The Boys in the Tunnel
by Ulura
Summary: One day Lestrade discovers a small homeless boy named Sherlock, living down in the dark of the tunnels beneath London with his protector and friend, John. Slowly Lestrade learns of the sad life the two have lived so far and how they came to be alone in the world. And the three must band together not only to hide from the shadows of the past but the future as well.
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes Greg Lestrade wondered why he became a policeman, so much running around, cleaning up messes and paper work. Not to mention the terrible work hours that had pretty much cost him his marriage. However right now, as he pushed his way through the overcrowded tube station his thoughts were more accurately:

_'Why did I let that bitch take the car?'_

He weaved through the heavy throng of people trying to make his way to the platform when he felt something slip into his pocket. Without thinking he twirled around and caught a small hand, which was holding his wallet. He immediately loosened his hold when he noticed his would-be pick pocket couldn't be any older than seven and looked positively startled at being caught.

"Nobody's ever caught me before." the boy blinked, he seemed unnaturally calm about the entire affair aside from being momentarily surprised by Lestrade's quick reflexes.

"Yeah, well you picked the wrong target kid." Lestrade grumbled, the boy's eyes widened.

"You're a policeman, a detective inspector." He whispered, it was a miracle Greg could hear his voice over the hundreds of people walking by.

"How did you-never mind, come on kid. You're in big trouble." Lestrade pulled him lightly but the little boy dug his heels against the ground and pulled.

"No! Let me go!" He demanded trying to pry Lestrade's hand away from his wrist.

Of course he would make a scene.

"Listen kid, it's the law I have to take you to the station and call your parents, or at least take you to station security." He sighed, the boy just tugged harder.

Lestrade took in his appearance, he was very skinny, to the point of being unhealthy and his clothes were thick and patched. He had dark curls that looked as if they hadn't been cut in quite a while, nor had they seen a brush or soap. A runaway perhaps?

Unfortunately as he was thinking about this his grip must of shifted and in his distraction the boys thin wrist jerked free. The boy tumbled backwards onto the smooth tile floor and quickly fled, cursing under his breath Lestrade followed.

The kid was quick, he'd give him that, his thin frame wove through the crowds with ease while Lestrade was left pushing and bumping into people left right and centre. Luckily the crowd was more organized as he made his way to the platform following the dark haired boy, who was constantly looking over his shoulder at him. Finally he cornered him at the edge of the platform, he expected him to turn and face the inspector, but that isn't what happened.

Lestrade felt horror wash over him as he child jumped straight off the platform down onto the metal tracks, some people around him screamed and pointed.

"Kid get out of there!" he yelled, "The tunnels only fit the trains, if you run down there you'll be crushed!"

As if fate decided to be ironic the sound of a whistle and a faint light appeared at the end of the left tunnel, heading straight for the kid. However, unlike the adults in the station the boy didn't seem fazed and without a word slipped under the concrete overhang at the edge of the tracks. Just in time too as the train came zooming into the station before stopping to let people on.

Lestrade let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The overhang was a small hollow area under the platform where somebody could fit in case they fell on the tracks. At least the boy was safe, if not in even more trouble than before. It seems his little chase through the station had alerted security and several officers were at his side by the time the train began to move off. However when they jumped down onto the tracks to retrieve the boy they found the overhang empty.

"How's that possible?" Lestrade asked, "Where could he of gone?"

"There's some cracks in the concrete at the edge here," one of the officers called, "My guess is it that the kid slipped through into the maintenance corridors."

"We'll send somebody down there to take a look, that's no place for a kid." The head of security promised before bidding the inspector goodnight.

Lestrade wanted to help the officers search for the boy in the tunnels but he knew he'd be of little help and probably end up lost anyway. Instead he vowed to take the tube again tomorrow and keep an eye out for the child.

-oOo-

He didn't see him again, not straight away. After another two weeks of catching the tube he was beginning to think that perhaps the boy had been picked up by child services or something. Though station security informed him they hadn't found him in the tunnels, in fact there was no sign he'd even been there.

Greg didn't know why he was letting it worry him so much, so he'd had a scuffle with a pick pocket, big deal. The child shouldn't of been on his mind so much. He was about to try and take his mind off things with a cup of coffee from the tube canteen when he heard a yell.

"Get back here you brat!"

He turned and saw a familiar pale face with black hair run past him with a large man in pursuit. Looks like his little pick pocket was at it again. Quickly he flashed his badge to the man.

"I've got him!" He ensured and took off, this time the boy headed away from the platforms, towards the stairs and the street, however at the last second he veered right and flung open a maintenance door. Lestrade followed, the hall was dusty and darker than the bright white tile of the station but he could still see he followed the little shadow through the thin passage way. He could hear the boys breathing he sounded panicked, he was probably the only one to actually follow him this far.

Glancing behind him the boy saw he was still being follow and dropped to the ground a few feet from Lestrade, before the inspector could make a grab for him he'd yanked the face of an old venting shaft off and jumped inside. Lestrade cursed, at first he thought he'd lost the boy but then he realized he could still hear him. The shaft was old and creaky, he could hear the soft thumps of hands and knees as the boy climbed. Smiling to himself he walked as quietly as possible, following the sounds until he came to a wall and a door, the boy was in the room beyond.

Slowly, he turned the handle and opened the door, he found himself on a metal walkway suspended over a large room, there was the dark haired boy sitting against the wall by an old abandoned track. The old London line, the new tube stations had been built over them back in the 70's. The only light came from a large round metal container stuffed with newspapers and various other odds and ends that had been set alight. The child perked up as he heard the click of the door and glanced around, but didn't see the inspector standing a few feet above him.

"John?" he called tentatively with a small shake in his voice, "John is that you?"

Lestrade jumped down, landing in front of the boy and giving him such a shock that he tumbled backwards.

"Sorry, just me." He greeted, the boy started to shuffle backwards until Lestrade held up his hands in surrender.

"Hey, I'm not here to hurt you." he smiled, "I just wanted to get that man's wallet back."

"Will you leave if I do?" the boy asked suspiciously, holding the piece of leather to his chest.

"I can't just leave you down here in the dark." Lestrade argued.

"I'm fine, I don't want to go with you, I want John." The boy pouted, "And I _need_ this money."

"You can't just take other peoples things." Lestrade tried inching forwards only to have the boy scramble back.

"Fine, I give it back and you leave, but let me keep five pounds." The boy pleaded, "Please?"

That made Lestrade stop. Five pounds? Surely he'd want more than that.

"It's for John." The boy explained, some how knowing exactly what Lestrade was thinking.

Lestrade was about to ask who this 'John' was when a light flicked against the walls of the old station and voice echoed down the empty halls.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you here?"

It was the voice of another, older child. The little dark haired boy, whom Lestrade guessed was Sherlock smiled.

"John! John there's a man! He's trying to catch me!" he cried.

Lestrade opened his mouth to object but he realized Sherlock was actually correct, he hadn't been about to leave without the boy in tow. Footsteps echoed around the corridors for a few seconds before another floor flew around the corner, flashlight and backpack in tow.

Sherlock jumped to his feet and instantly was at the other boys side fisting his hands into his coat. Lestrade once again opened his mouth to reason with the two but to his surprise the older boy reached into his pocket and fished out a large knife and pointed it at the inspector with murderous eyes.

"I'll only ask once." He said darkly, "Did you hurt Sherlock?"

* * *

**I have no idea if there really is an old London line, I just made that up for the sake for the story :P And if there is one, well yay for me! :)**

**Also this story is set in modern times, I dont have an EXACT date but somewhere in the 2010-2012 area, it;s not pertinent to the story. **


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade took in the older boys appearance, he was a head taller than Sherlock but his features were much sharper, if the inspector had to guess he'd say John was about twelve. He had dirty blonde hair and worn clothes just like the smaller child, however he was much more threatening. How did he even come by a knife that large?

"Hey kid, calm your farm. My name's Lestrade." Lestrade ordered, "I didn't hurt him, I'm not here to hurt anybody."

"That's what you all say." John growled, his hands never wavering.

"He took some guys wallet, I need it back now." Lestrade ordered, "You kids shouldn't even be down here!"

To his surprise John turned to Sherlock with a look of disapproval.

"I told you not to steal things." John chided.

"But John-"

"I told you it's dangerous! I've told you you'd be caught!" John scolded.

"I just wanted money to buy you something for your birthday." Sherlock mumbled into the older boy's coat.

Lestrade took advantage of John's momentary distraction to make a move for the knife but to his surprise the boy had excellent reflexes and he was soon sporting a shallow slash across his palm. John regarded him warily.

"I'm still watching you." he growled, this kid had some serious problems with authority. Time to try a different tactic.

"Okay, how about a deal, I don't report you two and I take you to get some food but you have to give me the wallet so I can return it to it's rightful owner."

"John, what's 'rightful'?" Sherlock asked.

"It means it belongs to him not you." John answered before nodding, "Okay, deal. But no funny business, I'm not afraid to use this."

"I don't doubt it." Lestrade breathed.

-oOo-

Lestrade lead them back up to the main tube and dropped off the wallet at security while the boys stayed on the other side of the room, away from prying eyes. When they walked John stood just behind him, with Sherlock at his side. It made Lestrade feel like he was being held for random by a twelve year old.

However his hard demeanor broke somewhat when Lestrade handed him a large bag of hot chips. Both boys wolfed half the packet down within seconds. It made him wonder how long it had been since they'd gotten a proper meal.

Despite the fact that his outer shell had melted somewhat Lestrade noticed John always made sure he was between Sherlock and Lestrade at all times.

Perhaps they were brothers?

No, that couldn't be it, the two boys looked completely different. The small group sat in the corner of the fish n chip shop and Lestrade took this chance to get a better look at them both in the light.

Sherlock was wearing a dark coat and blue scarf that were a size or so too big. Lestrade suspected they actually belonged to John whose jacket was much thinner than the younger boy's. He then noticed the marks around John's neck, like something had been wrapped around it and tugged at making the skin rip and scar without medical treatment. Runaway was looking more and more promising. He wondered if Sherlock had a similar scar around his neck hidden by the scarf.

"Who did that to you?" Lestrade asked softly indicating to John's neck.

The boy regarded him cooly for a moment.

"People." He replied evasively.

"Why should he tell you?" Sherlock bit, "Your division is homicide."

"How did you know that?" Lestrade gaped.

"Well, I already deduced that you were a policeman by your tone and reflexes, you've been one for some time. You have rings around your eyes so you're kept up at all hours and your shoes are worn from running, plus the fact that you have calluses on your left hand from writing. The homicide division has the most paper work to deal with."

"That was amazing." Lestrade breathed, though it was somewhat drowned out by John jumping to his feet.

"You're a cop?!" He yelled looking nervous.

"John, relax." Lestrade soothed trying to keep things under control, they were beginning to draw attention, "I'm trying to help."

"By locking us up in some home?" John sneered, Sherlock squeaked.

"You said you'd let us go!" He cried.

"I know, I'm not putting you in prison but I can't in good conscience just let you both live in an abandoned subway tunnel." Lestrade explained.

"John..." Sherlock whimpered, steeping behind the younger boy.

"It's okay, Sherlock. We're leaving." John assured him quickly heading out the door. Lestrade followed but the boys were already running, for such small fellows they were fast and after a few minutes of winding through side streets Greg had lost them.

-oOo-

John held Sherlock's hand as they ran to ensure he didn't loose him, they didn't stop until they were well into hide park near the public bathrooms. Far away from Lestrade. Quickly glancing around to make sure they were safe John then turned to SHerlock, inspecting his face and arms, he couldn't be sure that detective hadn't hurt him.

"We're going to have to stay here tonight." Sherlock sighed.

"Don't worry." John smiled, "I'll find us a new place to live tomorrow."

"I liked the subway..." Sherlock mumbled.

John hated seeing him upset.

"Hey, I never got the chance to show you, here look what I found you today at the junk yard." John grinned reaching into his backpack and pulling out a tattered old book. The cover was faded badly but Sherlock could make out the words 'TREASURE ISLAND'. His eyes lit up.

"It's a story about pirates." John explained, "Let's find a place to spend the night and you can start reading."

The two boys searched around and finally came across a small sheltered barbecue area, John quickly grabbed their blanket from his backpack and wrapped it around them, he'd have to find another soon, this one was getting too small to cover them both.

"Are you sure Lestrade was such a bad person?" Sherlock asked as he curled up against John, "He didn't seem so bad..."

"All adults are bad Sherlock." John sighed, "They just act nice. You know that, besides you remember the last time a copper found us."

Sherlock curled closer, briefly rubbing his palm against John's shoulder where the scar from that particular encounter was.

"Hey, it's okay." John soothed, "I'm fine now, I'm sorry I bought it up but it's important you stay safe while I'm gone. What if I came back and you were gone? I might never find you in London, the city is so big."

"You could see from the London Eye..." Sherlock sighed happily.

John hummed in agreement. He'd always wanted to go on the London Eye, Sherlock knew that too, in fact John suspected Sherlock wanted to ride is as well. Last Christmas, they had gone down and just watched it spin slowly around all lit up. It was their Christmas present to each other. They could never ride it though, standard tickets cost 17 pounds, each. Even if they had that sort of money they would spend it on food or new clothes for the winter. Maybe a new book for Sherlock, not tickets for a tourist attraction.

"That's why I was picking pockets..." Sherlock admitted after a while, "I thought maybe if I took a little bit at a time I could get enough to buy you a ticket."

John felt his chest bloom with fondness for his friend.

"If we had that sort of money I'd much sooner buy you new books." John smiled, opening the cover of Treasure Island.

"Do you want to read first or shall I?" He offered, Sherlock snuggled down into John's jacket and hummed contently despite the cold wind.

"You read." He replied. John nodded.

_"__Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end..." _John begun.

Sherlock lasted the first chapter before falling asleep. Usually he'd last longer but that would of been due to the hunger pangs, as risky as it was John was glad they'd gotten a decent meal out of meeting Lestrade. They'd not had a filling meal in weeks, let alone hot food. John couldn't even remember if he'd ever tried hot chips before.

Carefully he gathered his small backpack in his lap with his knife within reach, just in case. Tomorrow he'd have to spend the day looking for a new home for himself and Sherlock. The subway tunnel had been perfect, shelter from the elements and pretty warm if they got the fire going well. He silently cursed Lestrade for ruining it. Perhaps they could find a different tunnel, under a different station. Oh well, he'd worry about it tomorrow.

* * *

**Just to make it clear John isn't trying to brain wash Sherlock or anything, he genuinely believes what he says. And Lestrade was right about their ages, John is 12 and Sherlock is 7. **

**Also John is against Sherlock stealing things partly because it is morally wrong but mostly because if Sherlock were caught he'd be taken away and John may never know what happened. **


	3. Chapter 3

Lestrade had a small team search the old London tunnels where he'd found John and Sherlock originally, they found some plastic wrappers and footprints, but no boys. It seems they'd scampered and could be hiding anywhere in the big city by now. Logic told him to give up, the boys didn't want to be found and in a city this big they probably wouldn't.

Yet throughout the next few days his mind would wander to the two boys and wonder how they were. What on earth had caused that scarring on John's neck? Did he have any other scars like that? Did Sherlock bare the same mark?

Perhaps he'd never know.

-oOo-

John awoke with a headache, that often happens when they slept outside. However Sherlock seemed fine and was happily reading his new book, making John smile. He was so bright, little Sherlock. John was sure if he went to proper school he'd turn out to be a genius. He'd done all he could for him, bought books to teach him to read and do maths, John had only gone to school for a very short time period and it wasn't the best school available either. But he promised himself to teach Sherlock all he knew, no matter how little that was.

"Come on Sherlock, let's find a new place to stay." He yawned getting to his feet, "Then we can have something to eat."

Sherlock pouted when he was forced to put the book back but did it all the same and followed John out into the park. They headed to the shadier part of town, where there were more abandoned houses where they could squat. A few men gave them a grin when they saw two such small boys walking all alone in the early morning frost but John flicked his knife around for show.

He was glad nobody came too close though, his headache was getting worse.

"You have a headache." Sherlock deduced while they were looking around some low income housing, "You have done all morning."

"I'm fine." John insisted, "Just the cold wind is all."

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment before jumping up and over the edge of the dumpster they had been walking past.

"Sherlock! Let me do that!" John demanded, "I'm the one with gloves! You could get cut."

"I'm fine!" Came Sherlock's voice from the dumpster, "There are a few second hand shops down this street who I bet use this dumpster for stuff they can't sell..."

Brilliant as always.

"Aha!" Sherlock called triumphantly appearing at the edge of the rubbish bin, "Here!"

The dark haired boy was holding a dirty and slightly ripped beanie made of felt, it was worn and grey, something any normal person would throw out but it made John smile.

"Thanks Sherlock." He grinned, "I'll fix it up as soon as I can."

Sherlock beamed proudly.

It was nearly lunch time before John found a suitable home for them, he was lucky, sometimes it took a few days. There was a loose air duct in the side of a cheap hotel with half it's lights broken. He slide it across to reveal what would of been an old basement but had long since thad the door boarded up. The room was only small but it had room for two adults, so two children would fit just fine. Carefully he slipped down into the underground structure and helped Sherlock down after him, carefully replacing the vent so nobody would know they were here.

The room was made of smooth concrete and was bare save for the small opening they had crawled through and an old rotted stool in the corner.

"This place is great." John smiled, "I can leave some stuff here with you while I go to the junk yards and get more without worrying about thieves."

"Can, we eat now?" Sherlock asked quietly, John knew he hated asking for food because they never had enough of it. But John always but on a brave face.

He reached into his bag and pulled out the loaf of bread he'd managed to score yesterday, using his knife to cut off the moldy bits he handed it to Sherlock.

"I'm still full from all those chips last night." John lied smoothly, "You eat it all, I'll unpack."

It was a habit of John's to count their meager possessions, perhaps he was afraid of loosing them.

Firstly he uncurled their mattress and laid the thin blanket over it in the corner to make a bed. Their 'mattress' was really just a length of foam he'd found in a bin outside a camping store but it did soften the hard ground somewhat.

After that he had a half full box of matches, his flashlight, a spare battery, a needle and thread, an old water bottle they refilled when ever they got the chance, a packet of dry noodles, some pencils, a pad and his money pouch.

Sherlock had made it for him out of an old cloth by sewing string around the edges to form a loose ouch that could be opened and shut by pulling at the strings.

He counted out the coins, he had about a pound at the moment. He made money by salvaging things at the junk yards and selling them to pawnshops for a few pence each. He used to take Sherlock with him until about a year ago when he'd gotten a cut infected and come down with a high fever. That was one of the times John actually pick pocketed without guilt so he could get the money for medicine.

After that he'd made Sherlock's rule book.

"John you're red." Sherlock spoke up after finishing his bread.

He got up and laid his hands over John's cheeks.

"And hot."

"I'm probably getting a cold." He groaned, they were no strangers to colds and flus.

"Maybe I could go to the junk yard today?" Sherlock suggested, "So you don't get sicker."

"Sherlock..." John warned with a rueful smile.

"I know I know, Rule #4 Don't go through garbage without gloves." Sherlock sighed, "Why can't I take yours? You gave me your coat and scarf."

"My gloves are too big for your fingers, they would get in the way. Once I find you a pair you can come." John argued, "We'll stay here today, you can read your book and I'll take it easy, promise."

-oOo-

Sherlock decided he liked their new hovel, it was a little cold but with both of them under the blanket together he was warm enough. When he woke up the next day John was still asleep with his back to him, that wasn't unusual, he was always second to wake. So Sherlock quietly read his book, underlining word here and there that he didn't understand.

Finally an hour had passed and since they'd only had lunch yesterday, well Sherlock had, John hadn't eaten, he wasn't hungry. He was fine going on his own but if John woke up and he wasn't here he'd freak.

"John." He nudged at John's shoulder, "John, I want to go get some food."

John curled up more under the blanket.

"John?" Sherlock asked again, carefully turning the boy over and gasping.

He was covered in spots! Red blotches were all over his skin, even his face, Sherlock had never seen anybody with a sickness like this! Sherlock suddenly felt very afraid, what if this was some serious illness and John needed medicine or a hospital? Sherlock didn't have the money for that! Even if he did, he wouldn't know what sort to buy.

When either of them had been sick int he past it had been colds or bad coughs, sometimes a fever due to infected cuts. Never had there been red spots.

"John you're covered in spots!' Sherlock cried shaking him a little harder so that he woke up.

"Mmmphf, s'lock." John rubbed his eyes, "You should probably go 'way I don't feel too good...I'm itchy."

The older boy sat up and itched at he red spots on his skin, they came away like scars and bled badly.

"Stop that!" Sherlock ordered, "You're making em worse!"

"Can't help it they itch." John groaned laying back down, "I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

"What do I do?" Sherlock asked worriedly.

"For starters don't touch me." John bit, "I don't want you getting, whatever this is..."

"I'm gonna go find some money on the ground." Sherlock announced, "Maybe I can get you something hot from the 7/11."

"Alright." John sighed, "Be careful okay?"

"Rule #1." Sherlock nodded before climbing up on the old stool and slipping out onto the street.

-oOo-

Sherlock really did look for money at first but the streets were empty of cash, not unusual. He twisted his hands together nervously, he had an idea but he knew John wouldn't approve. It would break the first three rules, possibly the most important ones.

Rule #1. Be careful.

Rule #2. Always watch your back.

Rules #3. Stay away from the strangers.

After a few long moments of self turmoil he turned and headed towards Scotland Yard.

-oOo-

Lestrade was up to his neck in paper work, Donovan had really botched the last case they'd taken, roughed up their suspect too much. The wrong suspect he might add, now they were a breath away from being sued.

"Sir?"

"I told you Donovan, what's done is done-"

"No, Sir this isn't about the case." Donovan interrupted, "There is somebody here to see you, he wont speak to anybody else."

Lestrade looked up to see Sherlock peaking into the room next to Sally, watching her warily as if he expected her to attack him.

"Yes, Thank you Sally you may go." he said quickly.

She closed the door behind her and Sherlock seemed instantly more nervous being in the small enclosed office.

"Sherlock, I've been wondering where you and John got to." He smiled kindly, Sherlock narrowed his eyes as if the gesture confused him.

"I'm only here cause I have to be." He snapped, then he went from defensive to worried again.

"Sherlock," Lestrade asked softly coming to kneel in front of the boy so he didn't tower over him so much, "What's wrong?"

"It's John." Sherlock blurted out, "He woke up this morning and he's really sick and he's covered in red spots and they itch and bleed and I dunno what to do!"

Ah.

"Take me to him. I think I know what's wrong." Lestrade told the boy, "Tell me where he is and I'll help I promise."

"You wont take him away?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"No." Lestrade promised, "Come on, let's go help your friend."

* * *

**Thanks for the reviews! **


	4. Chapter 4

It took quite a lot of convincing to get Sherlock in his police car. At first the boy had flat out refused, probably suspecting that Lestrade would 'take him away' as he kept saying. Greg couldn't help but wonder what he meant by that 'take him away', away where? Was he afraid of children's homes? Or did he mean something more sinister?

Eventually Sherlock agreed to get in the car but only if he could sit in the front seat so he could see where they were going. Lestrade knew it was against the law but he could tell it was the only way he'd get the child in the vehicle.

Once he had entered the car himself he noticed even more strange behavior from Sherlock. He squirmed in his seat, not nervously but curiously, as if he wasn't really sure how to position himself and he seemed unaware that he needed a seatbelt. Lestrade confirmed this when he pointed it out to the boy and he spent several seconds examining the device before clicking it into the holder.

Surely he'd been in a car before?

"I've ridden a bus." Sherlock spoke up, once again magically deducing what the inspector was thinking, "If I have been in a car I do not remember it, at least not a car like this."

"What do you mean, 'a car like this'?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock stayed silent. Lestrade decided it was probably best not to push the subject just yet.

Sherlock directed him through the streets until they were in a very unsavory part of town. Sherlock flung the car door open and was out as soon as Lestrade had stopped it, the inspector was beginning to think the boy was claustrophobic.

Of course that suspicion was prove wrong when he saw Sherlock tear the vent shaft off a small wall and drop down into an old, very small basement. Lestrade could barely fit through it himself, in fact, were he a size larger he probably would of found himself stuck.

"Shrl'ck?"

The slurred voice came from a small ball under a thin blanket at the back of the room, Lestrade observed the small space and noticed the empty backpack and few possessions spread out over the floor. Was this all they had?

"John...I um, I couldn't find any money." Sherlock addressed the bundle as it slowly unwound and John's spotted face popped out. Just as Lestrade had though;

Chickenpox.

John glared when he saw Lestrade and instantly he'd lightly pushed Sherlock behind him.

"What are you doing here?" He growled, "Why can't you leave us alone?!"

"John, you've got chickenpox, you're sick." Lestrade explained crouching down near the boys, "It's contagious, if you and Sherlock stay close together he's going to get it too. He might already have it and not started showing yet."

John inched away from Sherlock a bit at that but made sure he was still between the young boy and Lestrade.

"Sherlock found me and bought me here to help you." Lestrade continued, "But you have to let me."

He watched as the boys eyes flicked behind him, no doubt to where his knife was laying. But Lestrade doubted that he could be a threat in his condition, the boy looked exhausted and flushed with fever, not to mention the spots.

"He bought me here in his car, John." Sherlock told him, "He could of driven me off somewhere but he didn't."

"You got in his car!?" John snapped.

"Yes, but he didn't hurt me. I think he can help, John." Sherlock whispered.

John looked back and forth between Sherlock and Lestrade before he relented.

"Alright. But if you try anything funny, we're out." John snarled.

Sherlock nodded in agreement before quickly gathering up their things in the backpack and helping John up, being careful not to touch the spots. Again it took some convincing to get the boys in the car, seeings as only one could fit in the front seat and neither felt comfortable letting the other sit alone.

Finally Sherlock took the front seat at John's insistence.

"If you see any trouble you jump out okay? I'll be right behind you." He heard the older boy whisper.

Lestrade decided it was best to try and be as honest as possible with the boys.

"Okay, I'm going to take you to a clinic not too far from my house. I have a friend who is a doctor there, she can help you and give Sherlock a shot to make him immune to the disease." Sherlock told them.

He couldn't help but notice the boys flinch when he said the word 'shot'.

Once again the boys hurried out of the car as soon as it had stopped, John was a little sluggish though. Luckily Sarah wasn't too busy today and was happy to help once Lestrade had explained the situation. They lead the boys down the hall and into her consulting room.

"Now, John is it?" She asked kindly, "I need you to sit up on the table and take your shirt off so I can listen you your breathing and check the severity of your illness."

"No." John refused, "I'm not taking my clothes off!"

"Just your shirt and jacket." Lestrade explained.

John refused again, the inspector sighed.

"Why don't we give Sherlock his shot then, he just needs to roll up his sleeve." Sarah suggested, revealing a small needle from her draw. Sherlock shrunk back.

"John says that stuff's bad..." He mumbled, John nodded.

"It is, we're smarter than you think." John crossed his arms, "That stuff makes you act crazy!"

The doctor and the inspector shared a look. Quickly Sarah explained the difference between her needle and the ones they had seen.

"It's what's in the needle," She explained, "This is medicine that stops you from getting sick."

Like most things it took a lot of convincing but finally Sherlock relented and took the shot, he didn't even flinch.

"Have you seen many people using things like this?" Lestrade asked gently to both boys, they shared a look and didn't speak. Eventually John nodded.

"You wont tell me when or who though, am I right?" Greg guessed, John nodded.

Sarah went back to trying to convince John to remove his shirt and once again the boy point blank refused until Sherlock started as well.

"They helped so far." He pointed out.

John made a face.

"I swear I'll step away if you feel uncomfortable." Sarah promised. God this woman was a saint, lord knows she was used to compliant patients.

He shed his jacket fine but when he got to his shirt the boy slowed down, if Lestrade didn't know any better he'd say the boy was, self-conscious?

When the garment was finally removed the inspectors eyes honed in on the scar on the boys shoulder, just below the armpit. It was a very recognizable starburst pattern that often happen when somebody was shot with a bullet.

Lestrade felt his blood boil. Somebody had _shot _this kid.

Sarah gasped but tactfully didn't say anything and began inspecting the boy over and applying calamine lotion to the spots. Sherlock was enthralled as she explained how the cream worked, John just shifted uncomfortably.

"You should be fine soon," Sarah smiled, "A few days rest and you will be all good, and the spots should be gone within a week tops, you've got a very good immune system. Just take some aspirin for the fever and it will be over before you know it."

She snapped her gloves off and left the room, eyeing Lestrade as she went. Obviously hinting that he should talk to the boys about the scar.

First things first.

"Sherlock, please can you show me your neck?" Lestrade asked, Sherlock looked to John first but did unwind the ratty thing, revealing a similar scar to John's just as he's suspected.

"Do you boys have any other scars?" He asked, silence. Oh well it was worth a shot.

"Who shot you, John?" He asked seriously.

John eyed him.

"I can tell that injury is a few years old, what happened?" Lestrade asked again, "Obviously it wasn't well treated."

He suddenly found himself praying that the boys didn't sew it up themselves.

"Why do you care?" John asked, there was less bite in this question, he sounded genuinely confused.

"Because you shouldn't of been hurt that way." Lestrade answered, "Who ever did that should be in jail."

"I don't get it." Sherlock said finally.

"Get what?" Lestrade questioned.

"You." John answered for him, "We haven't promised you anything, we haven't made any more deals, yet your helping us. Why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do." Lestrade gaped.

This answer seemed to confused the boys even more and it made Lestrade feel strangely protective of them. Had nobody ever done anything right by them? Out of the goodness of their hearts?

"So, if I asked you to get us more food, you'd do it? Even if I didn't give you anything in return?" John asked, Lestrade nodded.

"You need it obviously, you're both too skinny."

Now they just seemed even more confused, so Lestrade took another route.

"John, if you found food right now what would you do?"

"I'd eat it with Sherlock." He replied with a shrug.

"What if there wasn't enough for both of you?"

"Then I'd let Sherlock eat it and find more for myself."

"Why?"

John blinked.

"Well, because he's important to me." John answered, "But that can't be why you're helping us, you don't know us, you can't care."

Lestrade let of a breath of frustration, not at the boys but at the world for being so cruel to them. Without thinking he placed his hands on his hips, brushing back his coat and revealing his handgun to the boys who spotted it. The reaction was instant.

Sherlock was up on the table with John pulling him close, like a shield. The idea was slightly laughable really considering Sherlock was much smaller that John and only covered about half of him but the love behind the action was important.

"Don't shoot him!" Sherlock yelled.

"What?"

Sherlock's eyes flicked to Lestrade's belt and back to his face.

"Oh, no no Sherlock I'm not going to shoot anybody." Lestrade promised.

"That's what police do!" Sherlock argued.

Click.

"A policeman shot you?" Lestrade asked John, his silence answered for him.

What sort of officer would even discharge his weapon near a child?

"Look." Lestrade said quietly slowly taking the gun out of the holster and placing it on the floor before kicking it away.

Sherlock uncurled himself from John who looked even more perplexed.

"Here's what's going to happen." Lestrade explained, "I'm going to take you to my place okay? Not a children's home or the police station, you can stay with me for a bit. You can stay together and I promise I'm not going to harm either of you."

Both boys looked conflicted, like they both really wanted to say yes but their guts were saying 'no'.

"Tell you what," Lestrade tried, "I have a spare house key, so you can leave if you feel threatened, okay?"

John looked to Sherlock and back to the inspector warily.

"Okay."

* * *

**Yes I know in real life Sherlock would most likely of already contracted chickenpox from being so close to John and that the shot wouldn't of worked but for the sake of an interesting story lets just say it does :P **

**I'll start having the boys past come through soon but I had to lay the ground work first. **


	5. Chapter 5

Lestrade had no idea why he was acting this way. Logically speaking he should drop these boys off with child services and be gone from it. He knew nothing about caring for children, let alone children who were obviously traumatized to some degree. But deep down he knew it had to be him to look after them, if he dropped them off at some office they'd have even more proof that adults were nothing but liars and not to be trusted. Not that they trusted him yet, but there was a bridge forming, slowly.

He took them with him to a shopping Plaza first to buy food, he watched as they looked and the rows and rows of food with bright eyes. He could see it was particularly hard for Sherlock not to grab the items straight from the shelf and wolf them down and even harder for John to stop him from doing so.

It wasn't a matter of eat when you are hungry for them, it was eat when you have the chance.

He also grabbed a few sets of clothes from the racks near the edge of the Plaza, guessing the boys sizes.

They snacked while they were in the car, by the time they reached Lestrade's flat, only ten minutes away, the children had polished off half a load of bread and apple each.

The boys lingered at the door for a few moments as Lestrade walked into the lounge, then followed him in. Lestrade watched as their eyes flicked to the windows and doors, even his vents, possible escape routes.

"You said I'd have a key if we wanted to leave." John demanded, still close the door, "Give it to me now."

Lestrade grabbed the key from the hook and held it up, "Please?"

"Why should I?" John sneered.

"You get things by asking nicely." Lestrade told him.

John looked as if he was going to fight when suddenly Sherlock had run forward, jumped in the air and snatched the key before Lestrade could blink.

"You get things by taking them." The dark haired boy countered returning to John's side and passing him the key.

Lestrade sighed irritably.

"Alright, both of you are going to take a bath." He ordered, "You're filthy. I'm going to sit outside the bathroom and wait for you both to come out when you are done okay?"

He showed them to the bathroom and handed them the clothes he'd bought, Sherlock looked at the price tags with awe.

"You...we can't pay you back for these." Sherlock said quietly, he sounded afraid. Like at any moment Lestrade would demand a bill for everything.

"It's okay, they're a gift." Lestrade smiled, "You two can do whatever you like with them."

John nodded, which Lestrade took as a 'thank you'.

"Soap's next to the bath, shampoo and conditioner are in the rack above the shower head."

"What's Shampoo?" John asked.

"What's conditioner?" Sherlock countered.

How long had these boys been on the streets?

"They are special soaps for your hair, there are instructions on the bottle." Lestrade replied pointing to the bottles, "I'm waiting right here."

-oOo-

John hadn't felt so clean in years, he couldn't remember the last time he touched a bar of soap or even had a warm bath. Usually they would get caught in the rain once or twice a month and that cleaned them off. Sometimes they would use fountains in parks to wash their faces and hands and scrub at their skin but it did very little when you were just rubbing more dirt in from your hands.

Sherlock had let John bathe first, the younger boy was still confused as to why John insisted they couldn't share but John had been rigid in that decision. He didn't want this 'Lestrade' person to think he was taking advantage of the younger boy. He did relent when Sherlock needed help with the shampoo though.

He rubbed the odd silky liquid into Sherlock's dark hair while the younger boy red the bottle with fascination.

"Look at all these strange chemicals John." Sherlock grinned, "Do you think Lestrade has a book where I can find out where they are?"

"Maybe." John grumbled, "Don't get too comfy here, Sherlock."

"I don't think he's like the others, John." Sherlock argued, John dumped a tub of water over his head to rinse the soap. Sherlock glared at him through his wet fringe before John continued with the conditioner.

"Just you wait, he'll turn on us, they always do." He muttered darkly, he didn't mean to scare Sherlock but he couldn't have him developing a soft spot for this man. It would only hurt more later.

Sherlock was quiet after that, letting John finish with his hair and rinse it.

"John," He asked quietly as they dressed int he new clothes.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think Moriarty looked for us?" Sherlock whispered, "After the...y'know?"

"No." John replied, not even sure if he was lying, "He had a big network, I'm sure he could get new...pets."

Sherlock touched his fingers to the scar left from his collar.

"It's just...he said, that he had plans for me." Sherlock continued in hushed tones, "Specifically."

He could see the small form of his friend shaking slightly, he still had nightmares some times. He tried to hide it from John but when you slept so close together it was hard to do. Sometimes John wondered if there was anymore he could do for him, he seemed to try and block everything out but eventually there was too much and his walls came tumbling down.

"It's been two years Sherlock." John hushed looking him in the eye, "You know how determined he is, if he wanted to find us, we'd of seen some sort of sign."

"You think he is." Sherlock countered, "That's why you never go to the soup kitchens and why you always try to get me to stay behind in subway tunnels and sewers."

Damn! John had thought he was doing that discreetly.

"I'm just being safe." John lied, "Come on, cheer up, how about I read you more of Treasure Island?"

Sherlock smiled weakly.

-oOo-

Once they had been cleaned up the boys looked much healthier, aside from the obvious malnutrition and John's spots. He gave the boy an aspirin, allowing both of them to read over the packet and select the pill for him to take themselves.

Then he placed three bowls of soup and noodles on the table for supper, the boys looked at it for a few moments before shoveling it in. Once they were done they flicked their gazed back and forth around the room, seemingly unaware of what they should do next.

"Where is my back pack?" John asked finally, "It has Sherlock's book in it."

Lestrade pointed tot he ratty bag where he'd placed it on the couch in the living room next to the kitchen then watched as John retrieved a tatty version from Treasure Island from it.

"Uh, if you like you can use this." he offered reaching up and grasping a book from the top of his bookshelf and handed it to the boys. He couldn't help but smile at the way Sherlock's eyes lit up when he saw the near perfect condition copy of the same book.

He started the washing up while the two boys took turns reading, though John kept glancing around as if he expected a trap to spring out at him. After a little bit John went off to the bathroom while Sherlock continued reading, Greg was just finishing putting away the dishes when he heard a small yelp followed by a heavy thump and a smashing sound.

He turned to see Sherlock sitting at the base of his bookshelf, the plaster bust of Napoleon that had been sitting on the top shelf was smashed to pieces at his side. It didn't take a genius to deduce Sherlock had tried to climb to the top of the shelf to get another book and slipped, falling and knocking the bust onto the ground.

The little boy was white-faced, he looked horrified and Lestrade could see a shallow cut on his cheek from a sliver of plaster.

"Sherlock!" He gasped worriedly, heading over to him to make sure he was alright.

"I'm sorry!" Sherlock trembled, "I-I didn't mean to!"

"Hey, Sherlock, breathe-"

Lestrade knelt down next to him but Sherlock curled up in a ball.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't! I swear I wont do it again, I'll be careful I swear! I-"

A sob broke him off and he squeezed his eyes closed, obviously anticipating some soft of attack. Without speaking Lestrade grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and gently swabbed at Sherlock's face, making the boys eyes shoot open in surprise.

"Sherlock!?" John's voice echoed from the bathroom.

"There," Lestrade smiled, "It's not so bad, I'll get you a bandaid, okay?"

Sherlock blinked back tears.

"You're not punishing me." He breathed as if he couldn't really believe it.

"Of course not, it was an accident." Lestrade assured him getting up to get a bandaid from the first aid cupboard.

"Sherlock? I heard you yell." John rushed into the room and quickly hugged Sherlock to his chest, "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"No." Sherlock whispered, "I fell."

"Here." Lestrade interrupted, placing the bandage over the cut before John could protest.

Both boys looked shocked, it made Lestrade's heart ache.

Silently he cleaned up the plaster bust and placed the remains in the bin. Sherlock clung to John the whole time, as if he expected Lestrade to snap any second.

"I told you both I wouldn't hurt you, and I wont." Lestrade promised, "John you should probably get an early night, I have a spare room and bed you can use. Sherlock you can stay with him if you feel more comfortable."

Sherlock nodded and Lestrade showed them to the room, he could feel their eyes watching him as he left. He made sure to leave the door open. Just in case.

-oOo-

_"Come on Sherlock, you need to keep moving!" John hissed as they ran through the halls of the large building. Sherlock's short legs were struggling to keep up, even with John half dragging him along by his hand. _

_"John...I can't" he sobbed, "I'm too tired."_

_"Just a little bit further, okay Sherlock?" John smiled, "The library isn't far now, we can get out the window."_

_Sherlock stumbled as he ran, he was sore, his muscles ached, he was covered in bruises and more than anything he just wanted to sleep. He didn't even know what was going on really, only that strange men had come to the estate and Moriarty and his men were angry. _

_They ran into the library and hid beneath the large oak desk by the window just as the strange men who had invaded the house creaked the door open. _

_"Maybe they can help us." Sherlock panted._

_"I think they're police." John mused. _

_"Do police help?" Sherlock asked, he was frightened._

_"I don't-"_

_"Who's there?" Came the call of the policeman in the library, "Show yourselves!"_

_They decided not to take chances, rushing for the window John threw it open with a loud slam. _

_"Hey!" The officer yelled, turning with his gun still up and fired. _

_Sherlock screamed as he saw blood spurt out of John's shoulder and onto his face. John was yelling and there was laughter-_

"JOHN!"

"Shhhhhh it's alright..."

Sherlock realized he was in the bed at Lestrade's flat, John was hugging him and running his hands down his back.

"Shhhh it's only a nightmare, you're fine, everything's fine..."

Sherlock whimpered and curled up closer to John's chest.

"I'm here, Sherlock, it's going to be okay..."

Both boys eventually fell back into an exhausted sleep, unaware of the shadow of Greg Lestrade who had witnessed what had taken place.

* * *

**I know it seems a bit OOC for Sherlock to be frightened of Moriarty but you have to remember in this story he's only seven years old. **

**Thanks for the reviews, the faster they come the faster I write :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock woke early the next morning due to habit, John was rolled over the other side of the bed breathing heavily. For a few moments Sherlock relaxed back into the mattress, enjoying the feel of soft sheets and proper pillows before crawling over to John. He was flushed again.

The doctor had said something called aspirin helped the fever, he remembered picking out a pill from the bottle yesterday and it made John better. He jumped out of the bed and peaked into the hallway, empty. When he'd cut himself yesterday Lestrade had gotten a bandage out of the top cupboard int he kitchen, maybe that's where he kept the aspirin too.

He grabbed a chair and clambered up, shuffling the various pills and creams around until he found the one from yesterday. He placed the chair back and carefully read the instructions on the back before selecting a pill and placing the bottle on the bench.

"John." He whispered, "John wake up!"

"Mphfff...Sherlock I'm sleeping..." John groaned.

"You've got a fever, here I bought you medicine."

John rolled over and immediately went back to sleep, Sherlock decided it was best not to wake him. Lacking anything better to do, he climbed back off the bed and tip toed down the hall way. He'd been to the living room, kitchen and bathroom, all that was left was the room at the end of the hall. That was probably Lestrade's.

Ever curious he crept up to the door and opened it, Lestrade was asleep in the bed as expected, so Sherlock's attention was drawn to the items around the room. Firstly the man's wallet on his desk. Inside were all manner of plastic cards and well as a little cash. His instincts told him to take the money and run but another felt bad as Lestrade hadn't yet proven to be a threat. He left the money where it was, and instead chose to study the cards.

They all had the same name on them, GREGORY LESTRADE.

"Sherlock?" Came a groggy voice, "Why are you going through my wallet? If you need money-"

"No! I..." Sherlock trailed off, he wasn't really sure what to say. In his experience if you were caught touching things that didn't belong to you, you got beaten.

"Why do you have two names here?" He settled on asking.

"Everybody has two names, it's how we tell people apart." Lestrade replied, "My first name is Gregory, or Greg and my last name is Lestrade."

Sherlock felt himself blush, he only ever had one name as far as he knew. Was that bad?

"You don't know your second name?" Lestrade guessed, Sherlock nodded.

"John has one, I think." Sherlock tried.

In his experience people only had one name, Jones, Piper, Moriarty. But when he had heard Moriarty refer to John as 'Watson' when he was still very young, it had stopped when Sherlock was still little so he'd always thought Watson was some sort of rank or insult.

"Can you tell me what you think the name is?" Lestrade asked, he suddenly seemed very awake and was kneeling in front of him.

Sherlock shook his head, John wouldn't want him to say so.

"Alright, you can tell me when you're ready." Lestrade sighed, "How about breakfast?"

Sherlock had never eaten bacon and eggs before, he decided he liked bacon and eggs. Very much. And orange juice.

"If oranges are orange why is the juice yellow?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade chuckled.

"I don't know." He admitted.

Sherlock decided that even if John didn't want him to get comfy here, he found himself rather enjoying his stay.

-oOo-

After breakfast Lestrade introduced Sherlock to the television and explained how to work the remote. The little boy was soon enthralled in the Discovery Channel, some form of science show about how volcanos worked. Deciding it was safe to leave him for a few moments he went to check on John.

He was curled up in the blankets but very much awake and clearly uncomfortable. Before he could protest Lestrade laid a hand over his forehead and John froze, perhaps he, like Sherlock, was anticipating an attack.

He was still feverish, despite the aspirin Sherlock had informed him about. It wasn't serious but it was enough to make the boy uncomfy and miserable.

"I can't give you anymore medicine but I have something that can make you feel better." Lestrade spoke as John watched him warily.

He got up and collected a small bowl of cool water from the kitchen as well as a rag and returned to find John still frozen in the same position. He looked as though he wasn't sure what to, run or fight. Hopefully he would choose neither.

"Here." He offered, wringing out the extra water and wiping John's face.

At first John relaxed into the touch but then shifted away, like he was trying not to enjoy the sensation. Or at least convince Lestrade that he didn't enjoy it. After a few minutes the boy snatched the rag away.

"I can do it myself." He grumbled.

"Everybody needs looking after some time." Lestrade argued, "You look after Sherlock, so who looks after you?"

"I look after myself." John replied, "I don't _need _anybody."

"What about Sherlock?" Lestrade questioned, John made a frustrated face and fiddled with the blankets.

"You obviously care about him a great deal."

John nodded.

This was getting somewhere, finally.

"Who mended your gun shot wound?" Lestrade asked finally, "It wasn't a medical professional, that much I can tell."

"Raz." John answered, for once without hesitation.

"Who's Raz?" Lestrade asked.

"A man, he found us after we...after I'd been shot and sewed it up for me." John replied, "Couple weeks later I took the string out myself."

"He sewed you up with string?" Lestrade gaped.

"Fishing twine." John corrected, "It wasn't too bad..."

"Do you see Raz much?" Lestrade asked, maybe he could find him too but John shook his head.

"Sometimes I see his work though, on the walls and stuff."

Graffiti artist then. Well, it was better than nothing. John didn't say anymore but he allowed Lestrade to feed him some soup. He was getting there.

-oOo-

Over the next few days John got better and the spots faded, meaning Sherlock was much happier. They still weren't saying much about their past though, which Lestrade found worrying. He was hoping that in the time they were here they would open up a bit more but after John's short talk about Raz there was nothing.

Or so he'd thought.

They had left Sherlock in the lounge watching the evening news. Lestrade had been in the bathroom with John putting some calamine lotion on his remaining spots when it happened.

Lestrade had just been putting the lotion away when Sherlock screamed.

It wasn't a short scream either, it was the kind that just kept going.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed running out the door with Lestrade in quick pursuit.

When Lestrade reached the lounge he was relieved to find Sherlock where they had left him but curled up in a ball on the sofa rocking himself on the balls of his feet.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" Lestrade breathed.

The boy just pointed at the tv. The news was still running, the top story. Somebody had somehow released all the prisoners at Pentonville, broken into all the vaults at the Bank of England _and_ the Tower of London_._ No clues were left what so ever with the exception of the tower. The only thing stolen was the crown itself from the Crown Jewels and on the floor there was a messages scrawled in yellow paint.

**_DADDY'S BACK! :) - M_**

As an officer Lestrade knew the mark, it was the mark of Moriarty. Years back the police had been investigating the organization, Moriarty had ties in almost everything from drug pushing to kidnappings and assassinations. If there was a large crime, you bet Moriarty had something to do with it, whether you could find a link was another question.

Nobody had heard from the Moriarty group in nearly three years now, there had been a bust on their major headquarters then and they thought it was over for good. Apparently not.

He turned back to see John and Sherlock all wrapped up together in a tight hug, they both were white faced and wide eyed. Completely terrified. Lestrade sat down next to them gently, not even attempting to pry them apart.

"It was the Moriarty organization who hurt you wasn't it?" Lestrade hushed.

"Moriarty isn't an organization, he's a man." Sherlock whimpered.

That made Lestrade's mouth drop. One man? When they had gotten people to talk they had always said Moriarty helped them do this and that but the context was always so different, they had always assumed Moriarty was an organization, not just a single man.

"James Moriarty," John growled, "He's not a man he's a monster, a spider, spinning webs all over England. He controls it all."

"He'll find us." sherlock whimpered, "H-he's gonna-"

"Shhh, no he wont." John soothed, though he didn't sound so sure.

"How did he get you in the first place?" Lestrade asked, John glared.

"I want to help, haven't I proven that enough?" Lestrade asked solemnly.

Sherlock continued to cry and John patted his head soothingly and didn't speak, but Greg could see the tears shining in his eyes. Eventually, the younger of the boys cried himself to sleep and John finally loosened his grip and allowed Lestrade to pick Sherlock up and carrying him to the bed so he could sleep comfortably. John sat on the side of the bed watching over him, sighing Lestrade turned to leave.

"Sherlock's too young to remember a time before Moriarty." John pipped up, not looking at the inspector, "He was practically a baby when they bought him to the estate."

"And you?" Lestrade inquired softly.

"My father sold me to Moriarty and I was taken to the estate. I was five." John mumbled, "Two years later Sherlock arrived, he was only two."

"You weren't well treated there." Lestrade stated, that was something he didn't need to ask.

"No."

* * *

**The next chapter we shed some light on John and Sherlock's past. **

**Just in case you get confused, John knows people have two names, he knew Moriarty's first name was James but Sherlock didn't. **


	7. Chapter 7

_ John learnt from a very early age that he hated his father. He drank all the time and yelled at his mother and locked John in the cupboard for so much as coughing. He wasn't overly fond of his mother either, she just smoked all day long and went out to bingo games. He wasn't aware that parents were supposed to love and care for you till he started kindergarten and saw how the other children behaved around their parents. _

_Not that he spent much time at school, he only lasted 6 months before his dad decided the money could be spent elsewhere. Of course social services didn't like that and started hammering down their door, there was so much yelling John wasn't sure whose side he was supposed to be on._

_One night, a few months after his fifth birthday his father came to him in the middle of the night and woke him up, demanding he got dressed and come with him. They drove for a long time, out of London and into the countryside, then into a thick forest._

_"Dad, where are we goin'?" John asked quietly._

_He didn't answer._

_When the car finally stopped they were in front of a huge brick wall and metal gate, beyond John could only see more trees and forest. A man in a suit was waiting for them, John tugged and tried to get away but his father pulled him forward and the other man took him roughly by the wrist._

_"Here. Dunno why you want him but he's yours." His father grumbled, the man handed him a wad of cash._

_"Two thousand, like we agreed and all records of your son will be erased. Child services will think it was a glitch in their system." The man replied, "They wont be bothering you."_

_"Dad?" John trembled, "Dad, what's going on?"_

_His father didn't reply, just jumped back in his car and left him alone with this man. He didn't seem very interested in him either, he unlocked the metal gate and shoved John inside._

_"Come on kid follow me." he grumbled, "And don't wander off, there are wolves in this forest."_

_The metal gate shut with a loud clang, making John jump. He wasn't sure if he believed the man when he said there were wolves but it was probably best he didn't take his chances._

_They walked for a long time until they reached the largest and grandest house John had ever seen. There were guards patrolling the doors and grounds surrounding it as well, though he didn't get much of a chance to look before the man who had bought him from his father shoved him inside. The inside was just as ornate as the outside and John found himself wide eyed, trying to take it all in._

_He was pulled up the large curing staircase and along another corridor filled with things that must of been worth more than everything he'd ever owned combined. Finally the man opened a large oak door and pushed him into a room filled with bookshelves and a large wooden desk with a man behind it._

_The door shut and he was alone with this new stranger. He was tall and thin with short dark hair and brown eyes that glinted in a way that reminded John of a crocodile, especially when he grinned showing his sharp white teeth._

_"So," The man grinned, "You must be John Watson then."_

_"Yes." John replied._

_The man rose from behind the desk and came to stand in front of him but instead of addressing him, he raised his hand and slapped John across the face. Hard._

_"Yes, sir." He corrected smugly._

_"Yes, sir." John repeated, rubbing at his cheek._

_"You're a lot younger than most of the men in my employ but I think you'll work nicely." the man continued, "I, am Moriarty and this is my estate. You are address me as Sir at all time, got that kiddo?"_

_"Yes, sir." he replied, mostly cause he wasn't sure what else to say._

_"Here, I got you a little house warming gift, since this will be your home now." Moriarty smiled, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a long strip of leather with a silver lock. A collar._

_He tried to fasten it around his neck but John stepped backwards before he got the chance. Bad move, suddenly he was being lifted up by the back of his shirt and flying through the air, landing against the desk which knocked he wind out of him._

_John let out a sob that had hurt, terribly. By the time he managed to sit up Moriarty was already perched in front him attaching his new collar and locking it closed with a flick of the key. The strip of leather was tight, but it allowed him to breath at least but it would be impossible to get off without the key. John continued to cry._

_"Now stop that confounded noise." Moriarty scolded, "I can't stand crying so you'd better stop it this instant if you want to eat tomorrow!"_

_John bit his lip._

_"That's better, I'll get the guard to show you to you're room." Moriarty clapped his hands gleefully._

_"Um, Sir?" John asked quietly, "What exactly am I? I mean I can't work for you. I'm just a kid."_

_"Isn't it obvious?" Moriarty grinned, "You're my new pet!"_

_As it turns out being Moriarty's pet was not fun at all. He spent most of his time in a dingy, dark room at the back of the estate. It was barren of furniture save a small blanket and some dog bowls which he was forced to eat and drink out of. He used his hands to pick the food up and cup water but it was still degrading and the food itself was never anything particularly good. Sometimes Moriarty would make him beg for various bit's of food from his own plate, chicken legs, noodles, meatballs, anything really. John always did._

_At least he got food though, at least once a day if he was good but if he did something that upset Moriarty he was forced to starve for a few days. The only time he was allowed out of the room was when Moriarty came back from one of his many trips, he liked to make John do tricks for entertainment. Anything from playing fetch to dancing to avoid bullets being shot at his feet._

_The only time he really got a rest was when Moriarty consulted with potential clients. Only the most interesting and highest paying of course, other matters were taken on through a less personal means._

_His 'consulting room' resembled something out of a medieval castle, a long thin room with a carpet running to a very large, golden chair where Moriarty sat. During these consulting John was to sit quietly at the side of the throne and allow Moriarty to pet him every now and then. Not that he had much of a choice as more often than not his collar was attached to the chair via a short silver link chain._

_He was miserable, he was sore and more often than not hungry. Sometimes he'd fantasies about escaping but the reality was even if he did get out of the house, getting out of the estate grounds would be impossible and even if he managed it he had nowhere to go._

_He was condemned to life as a pet._

-oOo-

By the end of the story of life as Moriarty's pet had been like John was in tears but trying very hard to contain them. Lestrade felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach, once the boy had started he couldn't stop, Greg couldn't help but wonder how long he'd secretly been wanting to tell somebody.

"Two years later, Sherlock arrived and well, it's been us against the world ever since." John finished, Lestrade decided not to push for anymore information, the brief story had obviously been painful for the boy, he could learn the rest later.

Without really thinking about it he placed an arm around John lightly and squeezed. John looked up at him, Greg could of been wrong but he was sure he saw trust there for the first time.

No wonder he didn't trust adults, he'd never been given a reason to. Now that he was finally relenting, Lestrade was going to make damned sure he didn't shatter the boys trust once and for all.

They stayed there for a long time, John leaning on Lestrade until the younger of the two fell asleep.

* * *

**John finally opens up. Let's hope you don;t screw this up Lestrade...**


	8. Chapter 8

For once the boys slept late the next morning, allowing Lestrade to watch the morning headlines without them. It was a good thing to, more crimes were being committed and the yellow smiley face and M were spray painted on the walls. There was no sign that Moriarty was looking for Sherlock and John of course, Lestrade hoped it stayed that way.

He decided that, just for today, he wouldn't try and pry into the boys past's. Instead he'd distract them, somehow. They deserved some fun. He began by making pancakes, he had a high suspicion that they had never tried them. This was proved correct when they finally emerged from the bedroom only to stare quizzically at the food placed in front of them. Greg couldn't help but laugh at the way their eyes lit up when they took a bite of the syrup covered mess. By the end of it they were both covered in the sticky substance.

"I think you two need another bath." Greg chuckled, Sherlock actually laughed, something that had never happened before.

John took Sherlock with him to the bathroom, Greg couldn't help but notice he didn't glance back over his shoulder like he usually did. Lacking anything else to do he inspected the boys back pack, finding a fe practical things but nothing to hint as to what the boys would enjoy doing. Not at first anyway. His fingers brushed against something laying at the very bottom of the bag, lifting it out he discovered it was a very crinkled brochure for the London Eye. The kind that had ticket prices and views printed on it.

"Hey!"

His head snapped up to see John standing in front of him, glowering.

"Stop going through our stuff." He growled snatching the brochure back.

Lestrade fully intended to apologize but instead he ended up asking,

"Do you and Sherlock want to go to the London Eye?"

The blonde boys lips parted in shock before quickly recovering his cold mask.

"We've been before." He argued.

"Did you actually ride it?"

"No..."

"Do you want to?"

"Yes." Sherlock cut in, skidding round the corner with his hair still dripping, "Yes. That's the whole reason I took your wallet, so I could get the money for a ticket for John."

"Sherlock!" John scolded.

Sherlock blinked his grey eyes at John but stood his ground.

"Do you want to go or not?" Lestrade grinned.

Both boys nodded.

-oOo-

Lestrade marveled at how comfortable both John and Sherlock were in the car compared to just a few days ago. When they arrived down by the Thames he could see John grinning and trying to contain his excitement at the large wheel slowly turning in the London sky.

He paid for the tickets and they lined up, it was going to take some waiting but Lestrade had a feeling the boys were used to that.

"Why is that doctor working in the ticket booth?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" Lestrade blinked.

"The man in the booth handing out tickets," Sherlock clarified, "You can tell by his hands that he was a doctor or a surgeon, so why would he work in a ticket booth?"

Lestrade grinned, "How do you know these things?"

"Sherlock's brilliant." John cut in, just a little too quickly. Lestrade remembered his self promise and let the subject drop.

"Sherlock, look at the bat!" John pointed over the railing toward the ferry tour boat that was whizzing along the water.

"I can't see." Sherlock complained jumping to try and see over the edge.

"Here." Lestrade offered, scooping him up and placing him on the railing so he could see but still help him so he wouldn't fall. He seemed concerned for a second before turning his attention tot he boat and smiling.

"Come on the line is moving!" John tugged at Lestrade's coat, then stopped and tried to look uninterested again.

Smiling to himself Lestrade lowered Sherlock back down tot he ground and followed the boys and another couple into one of the viewing pods. John grabbed Sherlock by the hand and they both stood by the window watching and grinning uncontrollably as the pod began to rise.

"Here." he handed his mobile to Sherlock, "You can use it to take pictures if you like."

Sherlock grinned.

"Wow, Sherlock look, I can see the park where we were a few weeks ago from here!" John exclaimed.

"And there's one of the tube stations!" Sherlock replied enthusiastically, "Come on let's see what's on the other side!"

The two immediately ran to the other side of the pod hand in hand, giggling the whole way. It was the first time he'd seen the boys behave like actual, normal children.

"You're sons are adorable." The woman they were sharing with.

"Oh, they're not my sons." Lestrade blushed, "I'm just, taking care of them for a little while."

"Well you're wonderful with them." She smiled, "I saw you three in line."

"We want kids ourselves but haven't had an luck yet." Her husband added, "What are their names?"

"J-" Lestrade began but suddenly remembered the tv story about Moriarty. He knew it was foolish but really, how many Sherlock's could there be? Especially at his age, accompanied by a John?

"James and Greg." He said instead, coming up with the first two names he could think of, "Thank's for the chat but I really should go watch them."

He excused himself and went over to the boys who were still pointing out all the things they could see excitably. He didn't interrupt them, but he felt suddenly venerable. Lestrade knew it was silly, the couple were just making conversation, they weren't spies but he just couldn't shake that cold feeling off.

"That was brilliant!" John smiled as they disembarked, "You could see the whole city up there!"

"Well not the whole city but-"

"Sher-_lock_!" John giggled, Sherlock did too.

"Come on, let's head home. I have a movie I think you two will like." Lestrade chuckled as they got int he car, smiling to himself when the boys didn't argue his use of the word 'home'.

-oOo-

As it turns out Sherlock and John adored Treasure Planet, so did Lestrade. It was a cute film even if it did have it's scary moments but the boys didn't seem fazed. By the middle of the film the three of them were stretched out on the couch together and Lestrade taught them how to throw popcorn in the air and catch it in their mouthes.

"Four in a row Sherlock beat that!" John grinned.

Sherlock threw two pieces int he air and caught them simultaneously with a crunch and a smug grin.

"Show off." John jibbed with a grin.

"Are you two going to watch?" Lestrade laughed.

"I am watching." Sherlock pouted.

Greg ruffled his hair affectionately.

By the end of the film John had fallen asleep against the arm of the couch but Sherlock was still watching with rapt attention, he seemed disappointed that the story had ended.

"Sherlock you have popcorn in your hair." Lestrade sighed looking down at the dark curls.

Carefully he began untangling the snack from Sherlock's hair.

"Is this what it's like?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock turned slightly so he could see one of the silver orbs looking up at him.

"Having a dad." Sherlock clarified.

That comment made Lestrade unintentionally freeze and Sherlock quickly hid his face again.

"I've never had a dad. Or a mum, at least if I ever did I don't remember them." Sherlock whispered, "I've only ever had John. So I don't really know what it's like to have a family, a proper one. Moriarty used to call me family, said I was his protégé."

"He wasn't a family to you Sherlock, know that." Lestrade sighed, "A family loves and cares for one another. Like you and John."

"So John's my family." Sherlock nodded before glancing back at Lestrade nervously, "A-are you?"

That was a hard question, originally the plan had been to gain their trust enough so that he could take them to Child Services and get some help. Maybe over sea the two boys getting a foster family, he hadn't considered taking them in himself. Not at first anyway but they had grown on him.

"If you want me to be." He said finally.

"I think...I do." Sherlock admitted.

Lestrade smiled.

-oOo-

Sherlock had gone to bed after that, Lestrade had been forced to wake John who was only really half conscious as he stumbled back to the bedroom and flopped down on the bed.

Lestrade yawned and headed for his own bed. Adopting Sherlock and John would be hard work, surely he couldn't...but he wanted to.

A sudden thump caught his attention, was somebody at the door.

He opened it to find nobody there, odd. He was above to close the door when he heard something tap against the wood, he stepped outside and half closed the door and to his shock found a knife embedded in the strong oak.

On the impromptu hook were two black collars with silver locks each engraved with a name. _Sherlock _and _John._

Under the tip of the knife was a note.

_I'll be taking my pets back now, Inspector. - M_

Ice began to gather in Lestrade's stomach effectively freezing him on the spot. He was snapped out of it when he heard a smashing of glass coming from the spare room.

"John! Sherlock!" He called running back through the flat wishing he had his gun on him.

He flew into the room, John and Sherlock were on the bed looking afraid and the window had been smashed, leaving glass all over the floor. He was about to ask if they were okay but he never got the chance.

"Lestrade behind you!" John yelled but before he even had the chance to turn something heavy cracked down on his skull and everything was black.

* * *

**Dun dun duuuuun.**


	9. Chapter 9

John watched as Lestrade went down thanks to the but of Moran's gun. The two had recognized Moriarty's right hand man as soon as he'd smashed his way through their window. They had been slightly surprised that he'd gone past them and into the hall but now it made sense.

John shielded Sherlock as best he could as Moran crept closer, he could hear Sherlock's quick breathing.

"Moriarty has been looking forward to seeing you two again." Moran smiled.

"Leave us alone." John growled, "Tell him to find something else to entertain himself with!"

"I wouldn't piss him off Johnny boy." Moran grinned reaching into his pocket and revealing two sets of handcuffs, "He's spent two years under ground and is in need of some serious stress relief."

Sherlock whimpered.

"Alright." John tried, "Take me but leave Sherlock, please?"

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed looking appalled.

"Sorry matey but Sherlock's the boss's favorite and you know it." Moran grinned pushing the two boys apart and cuffing John, followed by Sherlock.

"Lestrade, wake up!" John yelled struggling as he was dragged toward the window where more goons were waiting.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Sherlock struggled and squirmed while he too was dragged toward the window by the chain connecting his wrists.

John was forced to watch as Sherlock was manhandled out the window and down the fire escape, eventually their struggling became too much and the familiar smell of chloroform wafted into the boys nose. Seconds later there was a rag over his mouth and everything faded away.

-oOo-

When Sherlock came to the first thing of which he became aware was that he was not in the soft bed he'd become accustom to over the past week. He was on something vaguely familiar, it was plush and soft, but also hard, carpet. Very expensive carpet.

He then became aware of the tightness around his throat and his eyes shot open in shock and horror, hands flying to his neck. The collar, his collar was back on. He glanced around feeling his heart race increase as he did, he was in the consulting room at the estate.

No!

No he couldn't be back here! He just couldn't!

He stood but found himself stuck and choking, forced to his knees. He was chained to the chair Moriarty would sit in. John wasn't. Where was he? Was he okay? He tugged at the chain but it was futile.

Lacking any other option he knelt down on the ground and tried not to shake. He wanted John and to his surprise, he wanted Lestrade too.

"My, little Sherlock! How you've grown!"

Sherlock glared.

Moriarty looked the same as he always had, impeccable suit, dark hair and cold, dead eyes. Sherlock did his best not to flinch.

"My intel tells me you've been living on the streets until recently, how disgusting." Moriarty hummed as he closed in, "And then, some detective from Scotland Yard took you in, how sweet."

"Where's John?" Sherlock demanded, he was rewarded with a hard slap across the face, he'd forgotten how quick to anger his master was.

"You seem to of forgotten your training in you time away." Moriarty growled, Sherlock shrunk back a bit but soon the chain was pulled tight and he was trapped.

Moriarty reached forward and dragged him toward himself by his hair causing Sherlock to wince.

"We're going to continue where we left off." Moriarty growled, unhooking the chain from the chair and dragging Sherlock from the room by it. The man's much longer legs had the smaller boy jogging to keep up, which was difficult when your legs were numb from kneeling.

They made their way through the halls until they reached what Sherlock and John had always called 'The Hell Pit'. Theses rooms were where Moriarty kept the people he needed info from, usually it was Moran's job to 'convince' them, in the past there were occasions where John and Sherlock had heard the screams from their own prison.

Obediently Sherlock followed the man into the room, trying not to gag at the smell of blood. These rooms always smelt of blood, no matter how many times they were cleaned.

It felt so surreal, slipping flawlessly back into life as Moriarty's protégé and pet, he'd only been here mere minutes and already the life on the streets, with freedom was slipping away like a dream as if it had never happened.

There was a body, obviously dead, strapped to a table. Sherlock made his face as cold as possible, he didn't care, he didn't.

"Go on then, let's see if you can remember what I taught you." Moriarty shoved him forward.

"Well, um, he was killed by blood loss." Sherlock started, "He was whipped with a cat of nine tails, you can tell because the cuts are deeper at the end where the metal cut in..."

"Yes, obvious, go further." Moriarty prompted.

"He didn't talk for a long time, you can tell because there are a lot of marks." Sherlock swallowed, "Um, some of that bruising is post mordem."

"How much?"

"Uh...30%?"

Sherlock squeaked as he felt Moriarty grab his hair and hoist him upwards so he was standing on his toes.

"Try again."

"20%-OUCH!"

"Again, don't complain."

"40%!" Sherlock guessed desperately, sighing with relief when the man finally let go of his curls.

"You're getting rusty." Moriarty sneered, Sherlock did his best not to look afraid.

"Turn around and stand straight." Moriarty ordered, Sherlock found himself obeying without thinking about it just like he used to. His heart was pounding.

He heard the nine tails before he felt it, the crack was deafening. The force of it threw him forwards onto his face and he felt the skin burn with pain. He was lucky, he still had his shirt and coat on so the skin didn't break, but it would bruise terribly, he knew from experience. He thanked the universe it was only one hit.

"Get up, Sherlock!" Moriarty demanded, he could practically hear the eye roll.

Sherlock knew from experience it was better to at least try and stand, so he did.

"Alright, now tell me what he does and why he ended up here."

Sherlock groaned, his head hurt and he couldn't concentrate.

"Now!"

-oOo-

John had woken up back in his old room, his cage. Sherlock wasn't there. He'd yelled and banged on the door demanding to know where the younger boy was, threatening to kill anybody who laid a hand on him, even though he knew his threats were empty.

It took half an hour of yelling before a member of Moriarty's network came through and whacked him hard across the back of his legs and spine. Making him too sore to bother making any more of a fuss.

He curled up on the small carpeted area of the room they were told to use as a bed and stared wistfully at the empty food bowls. As demeaning as it was, he was starving. Despite the soreness he shot into the sitting position when Sherlock was shoved through the door, he stumbled and almost fell but managed to make it to the carpet before curling in on himself.

His eyes were exhausted and dead, Moriarty must of been giving him 'lessons' again. So soon after their return too.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock." John whispered, "I'm going to find you a away out of here I swear, even if I can't go with you."

"I want to go home." Sherlock sniffled.

"I know." John hushed, "Just you wait, I'll get you out of here and you'll leave London-"

"I want to go _home._" Sherlock repeated, "With you...and Lestrade."

"Me too." John chocked out, he really did mean it. As much as he'd tried not to he liked Lestrade, he'd taken care of them, fed them, clothed them, hell, he'd even taken them tot he London Eye. If he had to pick somebody, he'd choose Lestrade for a dad.

He wanted to tell Sherlock that it would all be okay and that Lestrade was a detective, that he'd come find them and take them home again but he knew it was just false hope. Nobody would find the estate and they would never escape again.

-oOo-

Lestrade groaned as he came to, what the hell happened? He'd gone to check the door and- the boys!

He sat up quickly, causing his vision to swim a little but to his horror the room he was in was empty and the sun was rising. He'd been knocked out and the boys were probably long gone, taken back to Moriarty no doubt.

He punched the wall in frustration, causing pain to bloom there but he didn't care. He'd promised them! He'd promised Moriarty wouldn't get them. He'd said he'd protect them and look what happened! What sort of Detective Inspector was he anyway?

He had to do something.

He reached for his mobile but found it was missing, that's right, he'd given it to Sherlock to take pictures. He must of put it on the bedside table when he got ready for bed. But when he looked it wasn't there. He'd been with Sherlock the entire day and not seen him with the phone, it must be here.

Suddenly it dawned on him, if Sherlock was woken by the smashing glass, he might of had time to...

Despite his head injury Lestrade ran to the kitchen where he'd left his laptop and booted up the phone provider site and punched in his number and password.

A little map popped up, showing his phones last known location, apparently the signal had been lost a few hours ago but Lestrade's hopes rose. A little dot was hovering over a large area of woodland that according to the map, was a wild life park. John's description of the forest and estate had been brief, but it was possible the place was located somewhere in that large area of trees.

Sherlock you brilliant child!

He had to get to the yard.

* * *

**SO sorry this took so long to update, I was getting stuff together for Christmas. The updates probably wont be every day anymore but they wont be anymore than 2-3. Promise!**

**Teaser! Mycroft will make an appearance soon...**


	10. Chapter 10

"What do you mean you know where Moriarty is?" The Chief asked, "Because you think he stole your phone?"

"No, I've told you it was Sherlock-"

"The little homeless boy you took in?" The Chief raised his eyebrow at that.

"I hate to break it to you Lestrade but the kid probably duped you, sold the phone for money." Sally cut in.

"I'm telling you these two boys aren't just regular kids!" Lestrade growled, "And somebody knocked me out! Look at my head! Do you think a child could of done that?"

He'd been trying to explain the situation for the past hour but he just wasn't getting through to anybody. No matter what he did, he really didn't have much solid proof that Moriarty was behind this. Sure he had the note but anybody could fake a note from another person. Sally even believed the boys had done it to mess with the inspector. How wrong they all were!

"Please." He begged, "I'm telling you that Moriarty is back, his estate is in that forest!"

"Don't you think we searched the old house we busted a few years back when the organization reemerged?" The Chief sighed.

"He's only one man, a genius, but Moriarty is a man, not a group." Lestrade corrected for the hundredth time, "And look at the area, it's hundreds of square miles, he could have more than one estate in that area! Did you look anywhere else except the house from the first bust?"

They had not.

"Just look over the area." He pleaded, "I'm telling you, all that stuff I told you about the boys is true, he could be doing anything to them right now. Their lives are in danger, as well as countless others."

"I'll have a satellite scan the area for large buildings, but I'm not sending a team in until we're sure." The Chief relented, Lestrade thanked him.

It wasn't enough but it was better than nothing.

Lacking anything else to do while he waited he looked up missing children on the data base. From what John told him, his name wouldn't heed any results and any way, there must be thousands of boys in the UK with the name John.

Sherlock on the other hand...

He typed the younger boys name into the data base, surprise surprise, there was only one result.

**Sherlock Holmes: Kidnapping 2007**

**Two year old Sherlock Holmes was reported missing February 6th 2007 after going missing at Hyde park. The toddler was being watched by his elder brother, Mycroft Holmes at the time who was reading a book and looked up to see his brother had crawled away. The brother stated that this was not unusual behavior and that Sherlock never strayed too far. However when the child had not returned in over half an hour he went looking for him but failed to locate him.**

**No sign of the child was found, nor were there any clues as to who may or may not of abducted the child.**

**No ransom demand was ever received. **

**Case remains closed but unsolved.**

The file also contained a picture of a dark haired little boy being held in somebody's arms, Lestrade would recognize those quicksilver eyes anywhere. This was defiantly his Sherlock. A quick search on the family made the man frown however, the mother committed suicide four years after her youngest sons disappearance, apparently blaming the elder child for the baby's loss in a note. The father spirals into depression and apparently died in a car crash after getting behind the wheel after downing several bottles of spirits.

Seems Sherlock's family had fallen apart after his abduction, the poor boy. His brother was still alive but the files on him were strangely lacking, almost suspiciously so. Perhaps he was a government employee of some sort.

"Hey Lestrade!" Sally called, "We found your second house."

-oOo-

"What is this!?" Moriarty demanded bringing the broom handle down on the small form of John.

He was holding the crushed remains of Lestrade's cell phone which had been located inside Sherlock's pocket.

"I told you! It's the detective's phone, I forgot I had it!" Sherlock lied again.

"Stop lying to me!" Moriarty yelled, this time whacking Sherlock across the back with the hard wood.

"Games are fun but daddy's had enough now!" Moriarty continued in his deluded sing song voice.

"I have a dad." Sherlock hissed, "And you're not him!"

Moriarty went from grinning to glowering in seconds, his dark eyes were boiling with rage.

He crossed the floor in the ornate room quickly picking Sherlock up by his shirt and shoving him against the wall. Sherlock began to choke as a palm closed around his neck.

"Stop!" John demanded trying to move forward only to be stopped by the chain which had been attached to his collar and fastened to the desk.

"He can't breathe! Stop it you'll kill him!"

"I admire your pluck but you two have become much to insolent in your time away." Moriarty scolded, "You both need retraining."

"I-I'm so-sorry!" Sherlock choked out, "Please..."

The rest of his apology was stopped due to the hand pressing down on his throat harder, blocking off any air movement and leaving him flailing.

"Say sorry one more time and I might let you go." Moriarty taunted, knowing full well the boy was trying but couldn't make a sound, "Go on, I'm listening..."

John watched helplessly as Sherlock's struggles became weaker and he began to go limp.

"Let him go!" John begged, stuck on all fours, "Please, he needs to breath! He's only little, please! He's sorry! He's trying!"

Moriarty turned his head, glaring at John. Finally he released the now unconscious Sherlock who slid down the wall and crumpled on the floor. Thankfully still breathing.

"You." Moriarty growled and he stalked toward the older boy, "All this trouble with Sherlock is your fault, I should of gotten rid of you years ago, Sherlock provides much better entertainment."

By the end of this speech the tall man was looming of John, who had one eye on Sherlock and the other on his attacker. He closed his eyes just in time as Moriarty's fist made contact with his cheek. The force was so much that he fell sideways, hitting his against the hard wooden desk, leaving him dazed.

"You are lucky I need to work." Moriarty growled unhooking the chain and yanking the very dizzy John to his feet and grabbing Sherlock by his scruff.

He dragged the two back to their room and threw them in.

Groaning John managed to get to his hands and knees despite the throb in his head, he could feel blood dripping down the side of his face where the skin had split on his forehead.

"John?" Sherlock slurred opening his eyes lazily.

"I'm coming...Sherlock, just gimmie a minute..." John promised, trying to get his eyes to focus.

"No...sleep." Sherlock sighed, "'m okay..."

John flopped back down on the floor and groaned, he didn't have much choice, he was sore all over from the beating and his head swam. Darkly he wondered if it would be kinder to kill Sherlock himself, as mercy. But he knew deep down he never could, even if he did some how manage to find a painless way of killing the younger boy he could never go through with it. Even if it was the kinder option.

-oOo-

He'd been right, there was another building located in that forest, it was newer, but outwardly it seemed to be based on the same design. Lestrade insisted on being part of the sting operation, but in all honesty, he was looking for the boys. Not Moriarty.

_John, Sherlock...hold on just a little longer. I'm coming for you I swear. _


	11. Chapter 11

John listened to Sherlock's wheezing breaths nervously, the lat few days had been brutal. Moriarty was obviously taking some sort of break because he'd taken Sherlock out almost every day to 'train' him. They had always been given minimal medical assistance when they were hurt, Moriarty wanted them in pain but he didn't want them dying on him.

Sherlock had his chest and stomach in bandages at the moment, John wished he had something to ease his pain. He gave another wheezing breath and coughed himself awake, gently John helped him sit and pressed the water dish to his mouth.

"How long was I asleep?" Sherlock asked.

"A while." John admitted, "Hopefully Moriarty has some work to do so you can rest for a few days."

"Is there any food?" Sherlock asked hopefully, they had been left a bowl of bread a few days ago but had used it all up.

"No, sorry." John replied, "Next chance I get, I'll beg Moriarty for some, he always loves when we do that."

Sherlock groaned and curled back up on the ground and stared at the wall. His eyes were dead. John bit his lip, he was trying but no matter what he said or did Sherlock kept fading away, he wasn't fighting anymore like when they first came here. Loosing his freedom must of done something to him, before he hadn't known any other life but now that he knew something other than Moriarty's cruelty, perhaps it was too much for his young mind to handle.

-oOo-

For once John was secretly happy when one of the men bought him to the dining room for Moriarty's entertainment. Going to the dining room more often than not meant his master was eating, he could beg for some food for Sherlock. Speaking of the younger boy, he was being dragged along behind him, he could see him wince as they moved. His chest was still bothering him. John prayed his ribs were only fractured, not broken.

As expected Moriarty was seated at the large mahogany table, there were papers all over it as well as a small bowl of fruit. That was odd, usually Moriarty didn't eat while he worked and he certainly didn't work at the dinner table.

Before he was ordered John quickly got on his knees and gave Moriarty a pleading look, flicking his eyes back and forth between the man and the fruit bowl. Moriarty huffed.

"Always so pathetic, John." Moriarty sighed, "Such a disappointment."

"We're hungry." John pleaded, "We haven't had any food all day."

"You got fat eating all that food at the inspectors place." Moriarty scolded, tossing a piece of apple at John who quickly handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock never got to eat it though because before he could even open his mouth Moriarty had snatched the piece away again.

"This is why Sherlock is so soft, you're always going easy on him." Moriarty scolded, "I should get rid of you."

Sherlock shuffled forwards and sat between the boy and the monster, glaring. John wasn't the only one who was protective. Moriarty sneered.

"Please can I have some of the fruit?" Sherlock asked finally, "I'm starving."

Moriarty opened his mouth but was interrupted by the door slamming open.

"How dare you interrupt me!" Moriarty yelled.

"Sir, the police force have just breached the front gate!" Moran reported, Moriarty turned to Sherlock with a look of thunder.

"That phone!" He yelled, "It was broken! What did you do?"

"He didn't do anything!" John defended, knowing full well he probably did.

Moriarty picked up the unused dinner knife from the table, both boys knew from experience those knives were much sharper than they needed to be. Sharp enough to hurt them anyway.

"I didn't!" Sherlock stepped backwards, "I didn't even know I-please, don't!"

Moriarty slashed downwards, catching Sherlock's arm through his thin shirt causing him to cry out.

"This is all your fault!" Moriarty screeched driving the knife forward toward the small trembling child.

-oOo-

John moved quickly moving forward and threw all his weight against Moriarty, knocking him down despite his slight frame. Moriarty pulled the child off him without much trouble and threw him against the table where he crumpled against the leg.

"You two were more trouble than you're worth! I should of killed you years ago!"

he reached for the knife on the floor, ready to strike when there was the echoing boom of the front door downstairs being thrown open and foreign voices. The police! Lestrade had come for them!

"You lose Moriarty!" Sherlock grinned.

His comment was met with a hard hit to the head that sent him sprawling to the floor, he blinked and saw the knife, which Moriarty had never picked up. Without thinking he picked it up and turned, ready to defend himself.

It all happened so quickly, Sherlock turned with the knife in hand, Moriarty lunged forwards to reach for it, John snaked an arm out and grabbed his ankle forcing the man to trip and fall onto Sherlock. The knife went straight into his heart.

Sherlock could feel the blood leeching out onto his skin and with a panic he wiggled himself out from under the now very dead, consulting criminal. He was close to hyperventilating, he hadn't meant to kill him! It had been an accident! He just stared down at the body with wide eyes before the sound of gunshots broke his stupor. The police were fighting Moriarty's men downstairs, how long until they came up here and saw what Sherlock had done?

"Sherlock?" John groaned from his place on the floor, he was still curled up in a ball with one arm extended where it had grabbed Moriarty.

"John! W-we should leave." Sherlock nodded surely grabbing John's arms to help him up but instead of getting to his feet John cried out and curled in on himself more.

"John?" Sherlock breathed, kneeling down by his friend and gently praying his arms away from his torso. They came away red.

Moriarty's knife, it must of stabbed him when John barreled forwards to protect Sherlock, no wonder he went down so easily.

"Oh Gods..." Sherlock panicked, "U'm I...What do I do!?"

"Run." John smiled weakly, "Go find Lest'de."

"I can't just leave you here!" Sherlock cried.

"Find help 'kay?" John slurred, "I'll be okay."

"I'm coming back." Sherlock insisted, "I'm going to get help and then I'm gonna come get you."

"Alright..." John replied sleepily, "I'll stay 'wake."

Sherlock nodded quickly getting to his feet and heading for the door, the world swayed but he kept going. The yells became louder as he went, the sound and movement of dozens of people disoriented him even more. The adrenaline from before was wearing thin and he was getting less steady on his feet.

He had to keep going though. He had to, John was bleeding out.

He made it to the banister, the police were making arrests, the guns had stopped and now all those who were once under Moriarty's employ were trying to make a run for it. Sherlock's eyes flicked from officer to officer but none of them were the one he needed, the one he _trusted. _

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock's eyes followed the sound, and there was Lestrade, just along the other end of the hall. He looked pale with worry, then Sherlock remembered he was covered wit bruises and cuts, not to mention a liberal amount of blood that didn't actually belong to him.

The world swayed and he took a shaky step forward and began to stumble towards the inspector.

-oOo-

From the minute he'd entered the house his sole goal had been locating Sherlock and John. It had taken time to fight off the wave of body guards but eventually he'd made it up the stairs to the second landing but the estate was huge, how would he ever find them? He looked down the corridor, wondering which of the many doors to pick when he spotted figure much smaller than the guards he'd been weaving through.

"Sherlock!"

The boy was bruised and obviously injured but what worried him most was the amount of blood all over him, surely it couldn't all belong to him!

He rushed to the boys side, sliding on his knees slightly just as Sherlock's legs failed and he fell forwards.

"Dad..." He whispered, if the situation was less dire Lestrade would of questioned it but now was not the time.

"Sherlock! Let me see you, your hurt." Lestrade insisted pulling back from the embrace and giving a sigh of relief when he realized the blood was not all the child's.

"John." Sherlock panted, "He's hurt, he's hurt real bad. You need to help 'im!"

"Sherlock you're hurt too." Lestrade hushed, "Tell me where to find him."

"Dining room." Sherlock moaned pointing to the large doors, "He's...near Moriarty."

"Moriarty!"

"He's dead." Sherlock whispered, "It was...I didn't..."

_Oh. _

"It's alright." Lestrade replied, "Medics! I need a medic over here! Now!"

The police officer with the med kit was at his side within a minute, Sherlock resisted but was becoming weaker.

"You can trust him, okay." Lestrade tried, "Please Sherlock I have to go find John now, you have to stay here alright? I'll be back."

The boy looked up at him with fear in his eyes but nodded.

"For John." He stated. Lestrade gave a proud nod.

He set his sights on the door Sherlock had pointed to, bursting into the dining room to find two forms slumped against the floor. Moriarty was facedown in a pile of his own blood but it was the small form of John that Lestrade was interested in.

He dropped to his knees at the boy side, cursing himself for not getting a medic to follow him. Carefully he placed a hand on the deep wound in John's gut to stop the bleeding.

"'strade." He mumbled with a soft smile, "You found us..."

"Of course I did. I always will." Lestrade smiled before turning his face toward the door, "I need a medic in here! Now! Hurry! We've got a kid bleeding out!"

"Is Sher 'kay?" John asked.

"Yes, he's fine, he's with a medic." Lestrade replied gently lifting the boy into his arms and placing his palm over the wound.

"Good." John nodded, "Tha's good..."

Lestrade felt his heart clench as the boys eyes slowly began to slip closed.

"Hey! You need to stay awake okay?" Lestrade breathed, "You can't fall asleep. Keep talking okay? Medics!"

"I like you y'know." John smiled lazily, "'lock was happy with you too."

"Well when you're better you two can live with me alright?" Lestrade offered desperately, "And we can go to the London Eye again, but you have to stay awake so we can okay?"

"I just want 'lock to be safe..." John muttered closing his eyes again, "You'll look after him?"

"I'll look after you both."

John let out a deep breath and went limp, his head lolling to the side against Lestrade's chest.

"John, John!" Sherlock held down harder against the would despite the fact that the dark liquid was leaking through his fingers.

"Medics!"

After what might have been an hour, or maybe a few seconds there were other people there, placing bandages over John's would and lifting him onto a stretcher, somebody must of called an ambulance since they arrived.

Shakily Lestrade got to his feet, he glanced down and felt sick, he was covered in the blonde boy's blood. Some how he made it outside, following the stretcher which was rushed to the ambulance and it's sole owner quickly given an oxygen mask and more medication.

"We need to get his vitals stable!"

"He's going to need surgery, the liver's been nicked!"

"He's failing! Quick get the defibrillator!"

Lestrade just watched hollowly as they began to ready the ambulance to leave, they would try and stabilize him on the way.

"John! John, no! **No**!"

Lestrade turned, it was Sherlock. He was standing with the other members of the police after having his serious wounds treated and had obviously just caught sight of his friend's failing condition. Lestrade only just managed to grab him as he tried to run into the ambulance.

"No! No, let me go! John! JOHN!" Sherlock screamed, "I need to go to him! He needs me! John!"

Lestrade held his arms tightly around Sherlock's middle, stopping him effectively as the ambulance closed and drove away.

"Why did you stop me!" Sherlock continued to scream, facing Lestrade with tears rolling down his cheeks.

"There is nothing you can do Sherlock, he needs a hospital." Lestrade explained.

"I could of helped!" Sherlock continued to sob, "I could of done something!"

Lestrade embraced the boy tightly.

"I am sorry." He whispered, "Really I am."

Sherlock fisted his hands into Lestrade's coat and continued to scream.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock sobbed for a long time, long enough for most of the force to gather up the remaining members of Moriarty's network and for the body of the consulting criminal to be removed from the premises. The medical staff tried to pry the child off the DI but he was having none of it.

"Leave him alone, he can stay with me." Lestrade snapped when they tried to pull them apart, Sherlock managed to kick one of them in the jaw.

For so long John had been the younger boys anchor in life and now he was on his own in almost every sense of the word. Lestrade was all he had.

"Sherlock, we're going to go the hospital alright?" Lestrade whispered.

"Can I see John?" Sherlock asked.

"Not right away but soon." Lestrade promised, praying that it wasn't a hollow one.

Sherlock stayed close to Lestrade the entire time, he had to get Sally to drive them while he stayed curled up in the back seat with Sherlock. When they reached the hospital Sherlock almost ran off again but Lestrade grabbed his hand and shook his head.

"Your life's not in danger but you should see be looked over, you should probably stay here a few nights." Greg explained.

He checked the boy in through the front desk but he flat out refused to let any doctors near him, the hospital seemed to terrify him. Not that Lestrade blamed him, everywhere they looked there were scissors, scalpels and other things that could be used to hurt. Though Lestrade couldn't help but chuckle when the small boy gave a doctor a black eye.

"Get away from me!" Sherlock screeched, "Let me see John!"

"I think we'll need a psychologist later." One of the doctors mumbled, the attending nurse nodded.

"We're going to have to sedate you if you don't let us near you." The nurse scolded, Sherlock hissed.

"Sherlock." Lestrade sighed, "It's okay I swear, they are going to help you."

"They could be his employes!" Sherlock argued.

"I swear they're not, I'll stay right here okay?" Lestrade suggested, Sherlock nodded.

So he stayed as close as possible while they checked over his various injuries, documenting them and giving him medicine to help with the pain. As he had guessed they wanted him to spend the night, surprisingly Sherlock loved this idea though Lestrade suspected it might have something to do with the fact that John was here also.

"I'm going to go and find out how John is, these nurses will take you to a room." Lestrade smiled, "Is that okay?"

Sherlock nodded, the drugs and excitement of the night were finally getting to him and Lestrade suspected he'd be asleep the next time he saw him.

-oOo-

"Excuse me I'm looking for John, a little boy, blonde, about twelve years old. He's beed badly injured in the Moriarty sting." Lestrade asked the fourth nurse he'd seen.

Nobody seemed to know where John was! He was in this hospital though, he was sure it was the closest to the estate.

"The little boy with the stab wound?" The nurse questioned, Lestrade nodded.

"Yes that's him! You have to let me see him." Lestrade breathed, he could feel his pulse quickening.

"I'm afraid I can't give out information to non-family members." The nurse replied.

"I'm his father." Lestrade countered without hesitation, it was practically the truth anyway.

"There is no record-"

"Of him at all I know, I can explain everything later but please, I need to know if he's alright!" Lestrade pleaded, his sincerity must of won her over because her face softened.

"He's in surgery at the moment, but stay in the waiting area and I'll tell you as soon as anything happens." She hushed.

Lestrade had never felt so stressed and worried in that hour he spent waiting, he checked Sherlock several times just to break up the monotony of pacing back and forth along the while tiled room. As expected the young boy was fast asleep and the doctors assured him he would be until morning, luckily all his injuries would heal and he'd been back to full strength in a few weeks.

Finally, the nurse reappeared.

She looked sad and for a moment Lestrade expected the worst.

"He's alive" she smiled, "but it was a near thing."

Lestrade let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"His condition is not good however." She continued.

"Tell me everything, don't sugar coat it." Lestrade ordered, he had to know.

"He lost a lot of blood, we had to do several transfusions just to keep him alive during the surgery. The loss causing him to go into shock more than once. That mixed with serval other injuries meant he was unstable for most of the procedure." She reported, "His body is very weak as are his vitals, he can't breathe on his own, he's unconscious at the moment but when he will wake is unknown. The next 24 hours are going to be vital, after that the chances of him awakening will drop with every hour. That's if he survives the night. It's touch and go now."

Lestrade felt as though the entire world had stopped spinning. Coma, and that was the good option. If John didn't survive Lestrade didn't think he'd ever forgive himself, Sherlock wouldn't that was for sure. He doubted whether Sherlock even knew how to function without John, he'd shut down, spend his life in a psych ward.

"Where is he?" Lestrade managed to choke out.

The nurse took his hand and led him to a small, one patient room on the next floor. It was degrading, being led by the hand like an infant but Lestrade felt too empty to care. He some how opened the door and stepped inside.

He spent a few minutes leaning against the door just looking, leaning against the door.

John looked so tiny in that white hospital bed, all his cuts and bruises were bandaged and he was wearing a hospital gown that made him look even paler. There were wires for measuring his vitals attached to his temples, neck and two more snaked down the loose garment, probably attached to his chest.

There were two drips, one for each arm, the left held blood the right an IV drip. But the worst thing by far was the mask and tube that covered most of his face. At first it just appeared to be a normal breathing mask, but after a little longer he spotted the thick tube attached to the inside leading down into his throat.

There was hardly any part of his visible at all that wasn't covering in gauze, wires or tubing. The room wasn't quiet either, there was the constant beeping of the heart monitor, the wheezing of the machine keeping his lungs works, the hum of the machine measuring his brain waves.

All of it just made Lestrade want to throw up.

"Hey, John." He whispered finally sitting down in the stiff hospital chair.

Not so much as an eyelash flicker.

"You are not staying here like this John." Lestrade said finally, "Sherlock would be lost without you."

"I'm so sorry I let him take you two again. I'm sorry I took so long, maybe _too _long." Lestrade voice started to shake then, "Sherlock's going to be alright, he's going to heal just fine but if you die he'll never be okay again. Not emotionally, he has me now but he needs you. You need to set an example for him."

"You're a strong kid, you can do this. You've been fighting and protecting you're whole life, it's time you got a chance to be a real child, play soccer of Saturdays, go to school like you deserve."

Still no response, not that Lestrade could really expect any difference.

-oOo-

John still wasn't awake the next morning but Sherlock was. Lestrade had spent the good part of an hour sitting there with his head in his hands listening as Sherlock begged John to wake up, wiggle his fingers, give some sort of sign that he was still in there and that the body on the bed wasn't just an empty shell kept there by machines.

Finally the mumbling turned into desperate sobs and Sherlock ended up half collapsed against the bed holding the older boys hand.

Any move made to try and remove Sherlock from the bedside was met with immediate restraint, one nurse was even sporting teeth marks now. Lestrade only left him to get food and drink for them both, and too pick up the forms he needed.

Adopting John was easy enough, the boy technically didn't exist, he had no records and no wiling family to take him in. Lestrade simply filled out the forms and made a few phone calls, a few personal connections from Scotland Yard would ensure that John was legally his son within the next few weeks.

Sherlock was harder.

"Sherlock," Lestrade began quietly, "I want to ask you a question."

"You want to know if I want to come live with you." Sherlock deduced, "I saw you filling out adoption forms for John, now you want to adopt me too."

"Yes." Lestrade admitted.

It was so odd, he'd only known the boys a few weeks but he couldn't imagine life without them.

"I'd like that." Sherlock said finally, meeting Lestrade's eyes, "I like you...as a dad."

"See, it might not be as simple as with John." Lestrade began, "There is somebody you will need to meet first."

"You weren't sold to Moriarty like John was, you were kidnapped, when you were two years old." Lestrade explained, "I don't know the details of it exactly but you wandered off at the park when your brother was reading. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but your mum and dad both died a few years ago but your brother is still alive."

Of all the reactions for Sherlock to have, fear was not the one Lestrade was expecting.

"You...you want me to go with my brother?" He asked.

"He is your legal family, I can't just take you away from him, then I'd be kidnapping you."

"But I want to stay with you." Sherlock argued, "I want to stay with John, I don't know this brother of mine, I want to stay with you! I love you and John."

He bit his lip at the last part as if he was expecting rejection, Lestrade just hugged him.

A small groan cut through the room and both the inspector and Sherlock turned to John. His eyes were scrunched instead of lightly closed, he was waking up!

"John?" Sherlock asked tentatively while Lestrade hit the nurses button.

Soon the room was filled with people, measuring his vitals, removing wires and tubes until all that was left was the heart monitor and IV drip. John was breathing on his own again.

"He's waking, he will be conscious within the next hour according to the data but he will probably only be awake for a short time period." The doctor explained, "His body is tired, but this sleep will be more natural."

"So he'll wake up no problem?" Sherlock questioned, the doctor nodded.

"It will be a regular sleep."

-oOo-

John was so tired, he really just wanted to fall asleep in the darkness that seemed to be everywhere. But every time he tried a voice would come and give him reason to keep trying again, sometimes it was Lestrade, sometimes Sherlock. He couldn't just leave them...

"John? John, come on..."

It was Sherlock's voice.

But where was it coming from.

"Please open your eyes."

Eyes. Yes, where were they again?

"That's it..."

That was Lestrade.

John blinked his eyes open, there was an expanse of white interrupted by two dark blobs. As he blinked the blobs became faces.

"You're awake!" Sherlock smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

"John." Sherlock smiled.

"Hey mate, thought we'd lost you for a moment." Lestrade breathed, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired." John mumbled, "Wha' happened?"

Sherlock immediately launched into a detailed explanation of the bust of Moriarty's estate and his subsequent death. Lestrade noted that he left out the fact that it as technically Sherlock who killed the man and that he had spent the last few days crying over John's hospital bed.

Then he said something Lestrade wasn't expecting:

"And now that you're awake it will all be fine and we can go home!"

"Home?" John questioned.

"Lestrade is going to adopt us both." Sherlock informed him matter-o-factly.

John's jaw dropped slightly.

"Only if that's what you want." Lestrade cut in quickly feeling very embarrassed, "You see you're not in the system and you both seem to like me, so I thought you'd prefer to not go to a home."

He was about to explain some but John cut him off with a weak hug, to be honest it surprised Greg that he was able to sit up at all.

"I...take that as a yes?" Lestrade chuckled.

"Yes, thank you." John smiled.

Lestrade carefully laid the boy back down on the bed so he could rest. Now came the tricky part.

"John, adopting you is no problem at all, you have no family, you're not even in the system." Lestrade explained, "But Sherlock, he does have family, a brother and he can take him back if they so choose."

John looked horrified at that, being separated.

"I don't want to go with my brother, I want to stay with you." Sherlock pouted.

"He's your big brother Sherlock, he's probably going to want to see you again." Lestrade explained.

"So?"

"Don't you want to meet him?"

Sherlock made a face, he was curious no doubt, but terrified of being taken from the only family he really knew.

"Whats he like?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know much, other than he works for the government and is twenty years old, thirteen years older than you." Lestrade told him, "Let's not worry about it just yet, we should focus on taking care of John here."

Sherlock agreed and went on explaining all the deductions he'd made about the hospital and it's staff while John watched him lazily before slipping into a natural sleep. Of course Sherlock didn't stop talking.

Sighing happily the inspector finished off John's adoption papers and then flipped open his laptop. It took some searching and use of the police database but he finally got a hold of Mycroft Holmes's email address.

He took a deep breath and started to type.

-oOo-

Mycroft considered himself very successful, of course he always knew he would be. His IQ was through the roof and his acting skills second to none. He was still a teenager when he had become part of the British Government and now only a few years later he was considered invaluable.

He was a consultant in a way, not really confined to any one area of work, if MI6 needed advice he;d give it, if the Prime minister needed it, he gave it. Though lately he'd been giving advice to the secret service and even the American CIA, it made him smile. Pretty soon he would be the British Government.

Despite this, he still read all his emails himself rather than getting his assistant Athena to do it for him. He couldn't quite teach anybody his deductive reasoning behind which emails needed reading and which did not.

Today he was about to click on a contact from his good friend the Queen, probably inviting him to yet another dinner, when a brand new contact appeared at the top of his inbox.

**Detective Inspector Lestrade (Scotland Yard), Topic: Sherlock Holmes**

It was the topic that made him freeze. His little brothers name, his baby brother whom he'd given up for dead. Perhaps this inspector had finally found his body? After a few years the entire family had given up hope of ever seeing Sherlock again, a few years after that they had given up on finding his body too. There were so many places you could stuff the body of an infant but perhaps some tiny bones had been found and confirmed as Sherlock.

Though it depressed him it would be nice to give his brother a proper grave. His mother had insisted they not give him one, she never really gave up of her baby still being alive and once she had, she hadn't been around very long. After that Mycroft had tried not to think about the subject.

He'd always blamed himself, if he'd just gone looking a little bit earlier...

He shook his head to dispel the dark thoughts, he'd only been fifteen after all. Practically a child himself. Once calm again he clicked open the email and began to read.

**Dear Mycroft,**

**My name is Greg Lestrade, I'm a detective with New Scotland Yard. About a month ago I came into contact with two young boys living on the streets, it took a long time for them to trust me but eventually I learnt their story. Both of them we're being kept as 'pets' by the criminal James Moriarty. I am sorry to say that while under my care Moriarty was able to find and recapture them however, through the hard work of the yard both boys have been recovered and are now on their way to healing. **

**I have decided to adopt the eldest boy, John, as my own son however the younger I will need to discuss with you. **

**His name is Sherlock, he's seven years old with grey eyes and black curls, he matches the age and appearance of your brother who was kidnapped years ago. I am yet to get DNA testing but I am without a doubt that this boy is your brother. **

**John and Sherlock have been both physically and mentally abused for years but Moriarty and as a result are very slow to trust anybody save myself but I believe with time they can both heal fully. **

**I have spoken to Sherlock and he wishes to be adopted alongside John but as his only living family you must give me permission. I understand that you may want to take him in yourself but I am hoping we can meet and discuss things.**

**We are at St. Bart's Hospital and will be for the next few days. John was severely injured in the raid of Moriarty's estate and Sherlock refuses to leave his side. We're in room 221 if you want to come and meet Sherlock. **

**Sincerely,**

**Greg. **

By the time he'd finished reading Mycroft was shaking. Alive. Sherlock was alive. It seemed impossible. He tried to calm himself, convince himself that this man was mistaken and that this little boy wasn't his brother but he couldn't help it.

Attached to the email was a photo file, with trembling hands he clicked it revealing a picture most likely taken from a phone. It housed a boy of about seven years, tall for his age and sharing all the features the email had described. Mycroft could see several stitches and bandages on his body but he seemed alright, despite being very skinny.

It was without a doubt his brother.

"Athena, I need you to cancel the rest of today's appointments!"

-oOo-

"What's in this drip?" John asked Lestrade.

Ever since he'd woken up he'd been curious about the hospital, having never been in one before. The same couldn't be said for Sherlock though, who wanted nothing more than to go home and watch Treasure Planet again.

"Nothing that will hurt you." Lestrade assured him.

"I know that, I mean what's it made of, how is it helping me?" John clarified, "And how to they make those stitches that dissolve, how can you cut somebody open for hours of surgery without them bleeding out? How do they fit so much stuff in those tiny pills?"

He was going to have to buy some medical books for him on his birthday.

"Dad, can I go down to the morgue?" Sherlock asked for the fourth time, "I wanna see how the embalming fluid works!"

Apparently Sherlock had no fear of dead bodies despite his 'upbringing', he was showing promise of becoming a detective one day.

"I told you no Sherlock, maybe when you're older. Why don't you and John play cards again?"

He had gotten the deck from the gift shop downstairs, realizing he some how had to entertain Sherlock before he broke something. Soon the boys were playing a very loud game of blackjack and Lestrade excused himself to run downstairs to find another game. However he barely made it out the door when he came face to face with a young man in an expensive looking suit, holding an umbrella so hard his knuckles were turning white.

He was tall with brown hair, sharp features and deep eyes that reminded him a lot of Sherlock's despite their darker colouring. This had to be Mycroft.

"Inspector Lestrade I presume." The man held out his hand, "Mycroft Holmes."

"Greg, please." Lestrade smiled, "I was hoping to see you soon. Sherlock's inside with John."

"How is he?" Mycroft asked, "I mean, what's he like? I gathered all the files on the Moriarty bust, including your report about the children's treatment."

Lestrade decided to ask how he managed to get a hold of those files another time.

"Sherlock is...he is slow to trust anybody and he tends to be either cold and logical or very emotional. He tends to bottle things up until they spill outwards. But he's also incredibly bright, almost a genius, while his emotional development is somewhat stunted he seems to be on the mend."

"Genius runs in the family." Mycroft replied stiffly, "Sherlock always showed promise, even when he was a baby, probably why Moriarty took him in the first place."

"Dad, who are you talking...to?" Sherlock had rushed out the door, no doubt hearing the voices but quickly ducked behind Lestrade when he saw Mycroft standing there.

"Sherlock, this is Mycroft." lestrade said softly glancing down at the boy, "He's your brother."

Sherlock peaked out from behind Lestrade's back nervously, eyes blazing with curiosity.

"Hello Sherlock." mycroft breathed, he looked as if he'd seen a ghost, then again he had, in a way.

"Hello Mycroft." Sherlock replied, still clutching Lestrade, "Are you going to take me away from John and Dad?"

"Dad?" Mycroft blinked, Lestrade blushed.

He hadn't asked to be called 'dad' by the boys but they both had started anyway. He suspected they liked having a real father figure.

"Lestrade is going to adopt me." Sherlock replied, "John too. I want to stay with them. Besides, you've got a time consuming government job, you wont want to raise me."

To the inspectors surprise Mycroft chuckled.

"You've got the Holmes genius that's for sure. Would you mind terribly if your father and I had a private talk?"

Sherlock made a face.

"I'm sure John's getting lonely in there all by himself." lestrade added.

Sherlock considered this for a moment before opening the door and slipping back into the room. Mycroft gestured for them to walk and for a moment they did so in silence. Nerves were making Greg's hands sweat. He found himself increasingly worried that Mycroft would whisk Sherlock away and demand that the inspector have nothing more to do with him.

"Stop being so nervous Inspector, you'll have rivers running down your forehead any moment if you continue to fret like this." Mycroft said finally, "I have no intention of stopping you from adopting Sherlock."

"Really?" Lestrade gaped.

"Sherlock was right when he deduced my line of work, my schedule is not only busy but erratic, even I do not know what hours of the week I will work sometimes." Mycroft continued, "Furthermore I am his brother, not his father, I am not good with children and I know very little about family I'm afraid. I looked into you of course, history and reports, while you are not the candidate I'd of picked to raise my brother there can be no doubt that he has taken a shine to you.

"I've read through many police reports about my brothers life up until this point and I believe it is important to let him stay with the few people whose company make him feel safe and comfortable. With you is the best place for him."

Lestrade was almost too shocked to speak.

"Thank you." He managed.

"I hold a minor position in the British government, I will get everything organized, both boys will be legally your sons by tomorrow morning." Mycroft continued, whipping out a blackberry and firing off a text to some unknown person.

"I do have one request though." He said afterwards, "I do want to be a part of his life."

"Of course!" Lestrade smiled, "You can see him whenever you want, he deserves all the family he can get."

"Then we have a deal."

* * *

**one more chapter to go!**


	14. Chapter 14

_One Year Later..._

"But I don't want to go!" Sherlock complained.

Lestrade was standing with him outside an expensive London school which Mycroft had graciously agreed to pay the fees for.

"You need to go to school, Sherlock." Lestrade sighed, straightening Sherlock's shirt for the fourth time.

"Why can't I just keep using the private tutor Mycroft hired?" He whinged, "Or why can't I go to the same school as John?"

"Because John is in high school." Lestrade explained.

"So?" Sherlock pouted, "I'm smart enough for high school, I don't want to sit here with a bunch of idiots who don't even know pythagorus!"

"Maybe you can skip a few grades but your not emotionally mature enough for highs school." Lestrade argued trying to tug Sherlock toward the school.

Naturally John and Sherlock had been catching up on the years of schooling they had missed for the past year. While John was an eager learner who had become excited at the prospect of going to a regular school Sherlock was, as usual, difficult. He bored easily and mastered basic mathematics and science so quickly it made Lestrade's head spin.

Both Mycroft and Lestrade decided it was best they went to a regular school to improve their social skills. Sherlock was against the idea from the beginning, saying he didn't need other people or social skills.

"Just try Sherlock?" Lestrade tried, "It's going to happen whether you like it or not."

Sherlock glared and Lestrade glared right on back until finally Sherlock sighed in defeat.

"Okay, but if they try and make me do anything stupid like draw my favorite animal I'm going to complain!"

Lestrade prayed for the souls of the teachers.

-oOo-

_Two Years Later_

Lestrade walked down the corridor of the expensive high school feeling a sense of dread fill him. He'd received a call about half an hour ago at the yard from the principal, Mr. Green, stating he was to come and pick John up due to him being suspended.

When he reached the office he saw John, sitting on a long bench by the door, he had a few small cuts and bruises as well as a liberal amount of dirt over his clothes. He'd been fighting.

"Ah, Mr. Lestrade." A man who must of been Mr. Green greeted him, "Please step into my office."

He shot John a disappointed look before leaving him on the other side of the door.

"Thank you for coming." Mr. Green began, "I'm afraid to say I've been expecting this but John had been caught fighting with other students, he even managed to give one of the boys a mild concussion. We're lucky his father doesn't press charges."

"You've been expecting this?" Lestrade blinked in shock, "John's never mentioned any trouble at school and this is the first I've heard of it."

The principal sighed.

"John is a bright boy, he does well in his classes and I can honestly say he tries very hard, harder than most. But he seems to have a real problem with authority, he's constantly sneaking out of class to do his work on the playground instead, he climbs buildings and he is easily provoked."

"We haven't said much until now seeings as despite the odd location he does do his work but this brawling is a serious issue."

Lestrade ran a hand through his hair, of course John would rebel in his own strange ways, even now two years after Moriarty's end he hated being told what to do. Mr. Green called John in and he was sat in the chair next to Lestrade's, he had his hands in his lap, twiddling this thumbs.

"He has, so far, refused to say why he attacked the other boys." Mr. Green continued, "John?"

"They started it." He replied petulantly, "They deserved it."

"John you gave a kid a concussion." Lestrade scolded, "That's serious."

"He called me a dog!" John growled, "He pointed out my neck scar to everybody saying that I was a dog and that it was from my flea collar!"

Ah.

Both Sherlock and John's school had ben informed of their pasts naturally, in case of any triggers of flashbacks. This was probably part of the reason why the teachers were so lax with John about breaking the rules, after all he was still doing the required work.

"John, I know it's hard to ignore those words." Lestrade started, "But if you start going around attacking people they will only do it more."

"I can't just ignore them!" John exclaimed, "They will walk all over me!"

"I think it would be best if we channel come of that energy into something else." mr. Green cut in, "John, how about joining the rugby team? You've always liked playing and I will make sure the coach knows to stop anybody who teases you about your scar."

John thought about it for a second.

"Nobody messes with people on the rugby team." He said finally, "I guess that could work."

-oOo-

_Five Years Later_

Lestrade had just finished a very long arduous day at the yard. They had finally wrapped up the murder of Daisy Jenkins and the paper work had taken him nearly as long as he investigations. Or at least it felt like it. He was very much looking forward to a quiet night but when he reached the door and heard the raised voices he knew it was not to be.

"What do you mean you're leaving?!" Sherlock screeched.

He found both his sons in the lounge staring each other down, twelve year old Sherlock was looking murderous while John just looked conflicted.

"I'm sorry Sherlock but I have to, you can't become a doctor without studying at university." John explained, "And Mycroft has promised to pay and everything for me to go to the best school there is, it just so happens that it's not in London."

"It's not fair!" Sherlock yelled, "Why can't I go too! I got into high school early, I'm already two years ahead and the work is still easy!"

"Sherlock you can't come with me-"

"Why can't you study here!?"

"Boy's boys!" Lestrade yelled trying to calm the situation, "Please, you'll disturb the neighbors."

"It's not fair! John gets to do everything first!" Sherlock yelled.

Greg wasn't surprised by this argument, ever since John Mycroft and himself had started discussing John's university applications they had been worrying about Sherlock's reactions. Mycroft insisted that John study at a school outside of London, John needed time to start acting as an adult and spending time away from home. While Sherlock needed to improve his social skills and talk to somebody other than John.

Despite the fact he'd been attending school for years and even skipped grades Sherlock still refused to socialize with his peers. Claiming they were all boring dullards.

"Sherlock...John needs to go to to uni, just like you need to go to school. You'll still see him in the holidays." Lestrade explained gently but Sherlock was not convinced.

"Fine. Let him go, I don't want him around anyway! It's not like he's ever home anyway, he's always out with some stupid bimbo." Sherlock sneered.

"Sherlock that's my girlfriend you're talking about!" John yelled.

"So? She's stupid just like the rest of them and just like you."

"Sherlock! Apologize right now!" Lestrade scolded.

"Why should I?" Sherlock asked, "He's the one whose leaving! Who cares about going to some stupid school to become a doctor?"

"I do Sherlock." John replied stiffly, "I've always wanted to be a doctor you know that, I thought you'd be happy I'm getting the chance."

"Fine! Leave then see if I care!" Sherlock yelled trying to hide the crack in his voice and the tears welling up in his eyes, "I don't care if you never come back!"

And with that he turned and ran into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Well that could of gone better." John sighed.

"You know he just doesn't want you to leave right?" Lestrade replied.

"I know, but I'm getting worried about him, he wont make any friends." John groaned, "We were so dependent on each other before we met you I don't think he knows how."

They waited for an hour but Sherlock had still not emerged from his room, finally John caved and knocked on the door.

"Go away."

"Come on Sherlock, it's my room too."

"Not for much longer, you're going to get your own room far away from me when you go to _college._"

"You know I'm not going to get away from you." John addressed the door.

"...I know."

"How about I study in London, but I still live on campus? You can come and see me every weekend if you want to and I'll come over for dinner some nights."

Sherlock opened the door looking hopeful.

"Really?"

"Sure," John smiled, "I'll even show you my medical text books."

"Thank you!" Sherlock grinned but John held up a hand to stop him celebrating just yet.

"On one condition." John added seriously, "You need to try and socialize with people your own age, or at least close to it. You need to make some friends."

Sherlock's face fell but eventually he nodded.

-oOo-

_Eight Years Later_

Life was great in John's opinion, he was in this third year of medical school, Sherlock would be finishing high school next year and he had finally made a friend. Victor Trevor seemed like a nice guy the times he'd met him, he and Sherlock got on famously.

However John was beginning to get worried, of course he knew once Sherlock made friends of his own he'd be spending less time with John but lately he hadn't heard from his little brother at all. He used to call and text constantly but not John was lucky if he even got a reply once a month. Every time he asked his father what Sherlock was up to he'd say he was with Victor.

Even Lestrade was getting concerned.

_"I need to go to a conference out of town for the weekend." _Lestrade told him over the phone, _"Could you spend the weekend at home? I'm beginning to worry about Sherlock, he's been looking sick lately and he's been withdrawing into himself more and more these past few weeks. He wont tell me anything but he's never kept things from you."_

"He's barely contacting me anymore." John replied.

_"Please John I really think you should talk to him." _Dad told him_, "I was gathering up his washing the other day when I thought I smelt smoke, I didn't think much of it until yesterday though. I found cigarettes in his school bag."_

"What!?" John blanched, "I'll talk to him, don't worry."

_"Thanks John"_

He knocked on the door but Sherlock didn't answer, he knew his dad had already left but Sherlock was supposed to be home.

"Sherlock?" He called opening the door with his own key, "Sherlock, are you here?"

At first he thought Sherlock must of left but then he heard a strange sort of humming coming from the living room. He walked in and found Sherlock stretched out on the couch in his pajamas with a lazy smile on his face. What grabbed John's attention however was the belt around his forearm and the needle on the floor.

"Jesus Christ!"

"No, just me." Sherlock giggled.

"What the _fuck _are you doing Sherlock?" John exclaimed running over to him and pushing up his sleeves revealing several needle holes and track marks. This was not the first time.

"I would of thought that was obvious." Sherlock hummed.

"How long has this been going on?" John yelled making Sherlock curl in on himself, "Tell me! You tell me right now Sherlock! Dad can't possibly know about this!"

"Course not." Sherlock shrugged, which apparently he found very funny because he started to giggle, which then turned into hysterical laughter.

"Sherlock! Get a hold of yourself." John tried to no avail, "Sherlock, you're scaring me."

Eventually Sherlock stopped and started humming again, John decided to leave him there on the couch while he searched his old room. Sherlock may be a genius but John knew almost all his tricks, after an hour he'd located several canisters of suspicious liquid and half a dozen needles. Which he immediately bagged for his father, he was no expert on drugs but his medical training plus the fact that his dad was a cop told him it was cocaine.

"Sherlock, where did you get this?" John asked.

His was finally coming down from the high and looked truly miserable, most likely because he felt ashamed John had seen him like that.

"Victor." he replied quietly.

John felt his blood boil but maintained a calm exterior.

"How long?" He asked simply.

"A few months." Sherlock admitted, "I swear you weren't supposed to find out, please don't tell dad."

"I have to and you know it." John replied sternly, "Oh, Sherlock...what on earth made you think _this _was a good idea? And smoking?"

"You know about that too?" He whispered.

"Dad does too." John told him, Sherlock hung his head.

"Victor started it, he found a stray packet and well, we tried them and we liked them." Sherlock squirmed.

"And the drugs Sherlock? You know what that shit can do to you, I thought you were smarter than that."

"I...I didn't want to at first but Victor started and he said it would help me stop thinking about it and..."

"Stop thinking about what?" John cut in.

He could practically see Sherlock cursing himself. John sat down on the couch next to him and tried to get the younger boy to look him in the eyes but he couldn't.

"Sherlock, please tell me."

"It's not important." Sherlock shifted.

"Obviously it is otherwise you wouldn't of turned to this as a distraction." John held up the needle, he could see Sherlock looking at it with a mix of hatred and longing.

"I was worried." Sherlock started, and once he had he couldn't stop it all came out so fast.

"Because last summer Victor and I, we...we...and then with that girl at our school Clara, when she came out her parents kicked her out of home and all the kids were talking about it and I was so worried the same thing would happen so I kept my mouth shut and then I kept thinking, what if you, Mycroft or dad found out? And then I'd be on my own again on the streets..."

He was close to hyperventilating at this point, the drug was still messing with him obviously, it wasn't like him to be so emotional. So Victor wasn't just his friend then...

"Okay, let me see if I understand what you are saying." John said slowly, "You turned to drugs because you wanted a distraction, because you were worried your family would hate you because you're gay?"

Sherlock looked like John had just accused him of murder.

"Oh Sherlock." John sighed, wrapping his arms around the shaking teen, "We could never hate you. You should of said something instead of pumping your veins full of drugs."

"You're gonna tell dad and Mycroft aren't you? All of it." Sherlock mumbled.

"Yes. They will be angry about the drugs you realize."

"I know."

-oOo-

_Fifteen Years Later..._

Lestrade was having a hell of a day, new trainees at the yard were making a mess of the filing system. He'd missed all his phone calls because of it too he was rushing around so much.

"Sir, your son's here." Donovan called.

This in itself was not unusual, in his typical dramatic fashion Sherlock had created his own occupation. Consulting Detective. In a way it was brilliant, Sherlock could deduce people easily and Lestrade found it was a good way to keep an eye on his youngest and keep him distracted.

Sherlock had been especially irritable the past year since John had left for Afghanistan. The elder boy was only a few years of thirty now and had just been promoted to Captain, making Lestrade both proud and concerned as a parent. But he believed in John, he would thrive in a war zone. Besides, he was an army doctor after all, he wasn't first in line for battle.

"Tell him I don't have a case for him now." Lestrade replied quickly trying to organise the files the new officer had messed up.

"I really think you should see him sir, he almost collapsed on his way up here. We've had to sit him down in the break room."

Lestrade was on his way before another word left Donovan's lips. Oh God what if he'd relapsed? John's absence was very hard on him, it was a distinct possibility. Sherlock was sitting on the couch staring at his hands with his face hidden behind his curls, he looked up when Lestrade entered but to his great relief, his pupils were not dilated in the least. They were however, full of tears.

"Sherlock what's wrong?" he asked, Sherlock looked shocked.

"Didn't you get the call too?" He asked.

"I've been run ragged all day, I missed all my calls." Lestrade replied, "What's happened."

"John." Sherlock moaned, "He's been shot."

Lestrade almost fell over.

"Is he..?"

"He's alive. Just." Sherlock breathed shakily, "They were trying to stabilize him when the head of their unit called me, if he...heals he'll be invalided home some time within the next month."

-oOo-

Being shot had to be one of John's least favorite activities. Closely followed by the physical therapy that followed said shooting. His shoulder had some nerve damage due to the fact the bullet had hit almost the exact some place he;d been shot when he was a kid and he had a limp nobody could explain.

It had been weeks but he was finally going home. Sherlock and Lestrade had been frantic in their messages, he knew they were terribly worried. Getting his cane through customs was a pain, though not as much as walking without it mind you.

He was barely out of the terminal when he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.

"John! JOHN!"

Before he could focus on the voice however he was enveloped by a large black trench coat and the person wearing it.

"You're alive." Sherlock sighed happily.

"Thank God." HIs father smiled joining Sherlock in the crushing hug.

"You are never going back there." Sherlock declared taking John's bag, "I forbid it."

"And I agree with him." Lestrade nodded.

"I miss you too." John smiled, "Don't worry I wont."

"We're a family all we do is worry." Lestrade grinned, John beamed back at him.

"I'm not sure what'll do now though, with this bum leg." John sighed.

"Oh no need to worry about that." Sherlock shrugged.

"Why?"

"It's psychosomatic." Sherlock replied smugly, "You stopped limping two minutes ago."

**The End.**

* * *

**Wow this was longer than I thought it would be. I wanted to have an epilogue that showed John and Sherlock as normal people, after healing from Moriarty and their traumas. As for the making Sherlock gay thing, it was a spur of the moment decision. It's something I could see a young confused Sherlock getting worried about. Plus it's the 21st century, it's relevant. **


End file.
